


Need You Now

by Youremyalways



Series: Promises verse [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: And Jody mills is awesome, Angst, Brain Damage, Dean is Awesome, Father!Dean, Fluff, Hurt!Sam, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped, M/M, Married Sam and Dean, Sam Whump, Taken, Torture, Worried!Dean, dean and sam have a child, father!Sam, her name is Grace, protective!Dean, taken!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25149502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Youremyalways/pseuds/Youremyalways
Summary: This can be read by itself or as a sequel to the Promises verse!————Sam and Dean have been happy for almost twelve years. Their child is content, their friends are all safe, and they haven’t hunted outside of emergencies in years. They are well and truly happy.Until one day someone from Dean’s past resurfaces to kidnap both Sam and their daughter. How will Dean find the people he loves most? Will he make it to them in time?
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Promises verse [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1784953
Comments: 15
Kudos: 247





	1. Taken

**Author's Note:**

> Helloooo beautiful people!
> 
> If you didn’t read Promises Verse, all you really need to know is that Sam and Dean have a daughter named Grace. 
> 
> This took a while and is pretty heavy on the Sam whump, but also on the loving and very protective Dean. I hope you enjoy reading it just as much as I did writing it.
> 
> Final chapters are in the works. The story will be complete very soon! 
> 
> Alright, that’s all. If you leave comments, please keep them nice :)))
> 
> Xoxoxo

Watching Grace play in the park was Sam’s favorite thing to do.

It was a luxury Sam and Dean were never granted. As children, their father would rather pawn them off to strangers with guns and latin books than to a playground or local schoolyard. Entertainment wasn’t a survival skill, and was therefore unnecessary. Sliding down slides, swinging on swings, and balancing on beams… it was all superfluous. They needed to learn to be safe, not amused. Fun didn’t equal good times, it equaled unprepared. Being care- _ free _ was being care- _ less _ . So when John went away, they studied latin exorcisms with Pastor Jim and practiced throwing knives at scarecrow heads in Bobby’s backyard.

Sam and Dean were both thankful beyond words that they had the opportunity to raise Grace differently. 

They taught her about what was out there. She knows everything there is to know about salt lines, silver blades, and exorcisms. It was a very hard couple of conversations, but eventually both Winchesters agreed that they wanted her to be prepared just in case the worst happened. But they didn’t treat it like bootcamp. It was more of an extracurricular. Like a subject in school. Not the priority, not the above-all-else, but one of many focuses. They refused to treat it like the end all, be all.

Because more than anything in the world, Sam wanted her to have  _ this _ . What’s happening right now.

Him, sitting on a bench with a book in his hands as he watched her dangle from the monkey bars a good ten yards away. There was another boy, probably a year younger than Grace, laughing beside her and holding her legs to help her swing across. It was everything Sam wanted for his child. Friends, parks,  _ fun _ . No constant worry. No survival instinct telling her to check behind her every ten seconds. Just a kid being a kid.

He loved the domesticity of it. Of being the dad with his kid at the park, just playing around. Of knowing that Dean was at home, making dinner for when they got back. It was so… common. 

That might sound like a bad thing- w _ ho wants to be average _ \- but for the Winchesters, normalcy was the equivalent of rarity. And they would take full advantage of it.

Sam took a deep breath when he saw Grace reach the end of the monkey bars. A feeling of pride seeped into his chest and a smile creeped up onto his lips. Her long blonde hair made a mess as she jumped down to the ground. He couldn’t hear her laughing from where he was, but he could see it in the way her lips moved and her eyes lit up. Content, Sam looked back down at the page he was reading. He found his place about halfway down, finished the page, and then looked back up just to check in quickly.

The younger boy she was with was now the one swinging across the bars, and Grace was watching with laser concentration as he swung back and forth. She was gently playing with a piece of her long, blonde hair, twirling it between her thumb and index finger. Sam smiled and laughed a bit before looking back down at his book.

He finished the next page and looked back up again, ready to see his girl laughing with the boy she’d only just met. 

Only… Grace wasn’t there.

The monkey bars were completely abandoned. He furrowed his brows, but didn’t think too much of it. She probably just moved on to something else. However… as his eyes scanned over the swings and the rest of the play structures and he saw no evidence of his eleven year old daughter, he felt his heart sink and his stomach dip. His heart beat intensified and he jumped into action, standing up and jogging up to the playground, leaving the book behind.

“Grace?” He called loudly enough for the whole playground to hear as he walked through it.

He stopped at each slide and followed the stairways with his eyes. He checked under the play structures and looked around the poles and benches by the sides of the wood chips. 

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. 

“Grace!” He yelled again, his voice more worried now. 

The only thing left was the little igloo play structure in the back corner. Grace never went in it because she was pretty claustrophobic. Sam remembered how fearfully she looked at it the first time she saw it. Dean had assured her that nothing bad would happen, so she went in, and ended up having a panic attack when another kid crawled in with her and blocked the exit. She didn’t go anywhere near it now. 

But it was his last hope.

Sam ran up to it and just as he approached, he noticed a small foot sticking out. His pulse tripled. 

“Grace?” He yelled out as he dropped to his knees, the fear surmounting. He grabbed the ankle and pulled it with all of his strength and adrenaline.

But it wasn’t Grace. 

In fact, it was the boy she was laughing with. And he was unconscious. His stomach was rising and falling much too evenly to just be a nap. Sam felt his head fill with static. It was his worst nightmare coming true. He tried to keep a handle on his breaths as he stood up. His girl was gone. His baby girl… 

Sam’s hand went to his phone, ready to call Dean, but right as he turned around, there was a bright red glowy thing in his face and then he was falling to the ground. 

He fell unconscious to the sight of a pair of black boots coming towards him and the sound of an eleven year old girl’s screams.

\------------

5:57pm.

That’s what the clock above the oven said. 

Sam and Grace would be home any minute now.

Dean smiled at the thought. Before Grace was born, never in Dean’s life did eating around a table with the love of his life and his daughter seem possible. It wasn’t even a deep-down thought. It was an impossibility. Their lives were blood, guts, and knives. They weren’t sit-down-for-dinner people. Not even as kids. It was leftover jerky, fast food hamburgers, and last week’s expired cereal. No hot meals when the money you have comes from betting on poker games and swindling credit cards. No big expenses, they were too risky. No wasting money on food. It was just fuel, as far as John was concerned.

And maybe that’s why Dean has taken such a liking to preparing meals. As a child, food was treated like gasoline for a car. It’s sole purpose was to fill the tank. Run the miles. Energize.

Now, he had the opportunity to really indulge. Play with flavors. Sprinkle in different seasonings. Create sauces from scratch. He loved it.

Sam and Dean decided not to get married in the traditional sense. It was too much of a big deal for their liking. Instead, three years after Grace was born, they eloped just the two of them on a beach somewhere in Maine. They didn’t need a big ceremony to let each other know they were committed to one another. But that night, Dean made dinner and the pasta he pulled off was borderline orgasmic. He hasn’t stopped cooking since.

It was also a great replacement for hunting. Ever since Grace was born, Sam and Dean hung their hats. Retirement. Hunting became a thing of their past. Sure, a handful of times one or both of the brothers had to pull a friend out of the fire. And Sam had quite frequently helped on the research end of hunts, but… they were out. No more monster killing, no more life-risking adventures, no more saving the world. They let go of that pressure. That control. That lifestyle. 

Instead, Dean could still manipulate food. He could control it. Use his hands. Play around.

Like the pizzas he had in the oven right now. He made the dough from scratch, and the sauce. There was one with veggies for Sam -which Dean glared at disgustedly nearly every time he saw it- and a pepperoni for him and Grace to share. His girl had taken after him in the taste department. 

The smell was warm and comforting and Dean couldn’t wait to sit down and eat with his family. Nothing filled him with pride quite like when Sam complimented his cooking. 

Speaking of which… Dean turned to check the clock again.

6:03pm.

Huh.

Sam was a pain in the ass sometimes, but he was  _ always  _ punctual. It was the hunter in him. The part of both Winchesters that screamed  _ “If you’re late even by a second, people could die.” _

But, it was only three minutes. Maybe there was unexpected traffic because of an ambulance or something. Maybe Sam got caught talking to another parent. Maybe Grace begged for five more minutes and Sam gave in- which didn’t happen very often. That was Dean’s move. After all, Sam was immune to the puppy dog eyes. He’s the one that passed them down to her in the first place.

So Dean decided he’d set the table and wait. If they didn’t come in by 6:10, he’d call. 

And that would have been a great plan if Dean had any patience whatsoever. But he did not. When he finished setting the table, it was 6:06 and Sam and Grace still had yet to show up. He said he would wait until 6:10 to call.

But fuck it.

He dialed Sam’s number and pulled the phone up to his ear, crossing one arm over his chest as he stared down at the table. Maybe he was being overprotective, but he would rather over-care than not care enough every day of the week. 

On the fourth ring, he felt his heart start to race and his palms start to sweat. 

On the fifth, he clenched up his fists and felt himself grow light-headed.

When Sam’s voicemail sounded, he was about ready to throw the phone through the wall.

But he didn’t. Instead, he turned off his phone, tucked it in his pants, and jogged to the kitchen. He turned off the oven, picked up his car keys, and sprinted to the door. Right as his hand landed on the doorknob, however, he remembered that Sam had taken the impala.

“Fuck!” He exclaimed as the frustration boiled over.

He ran back into the house, threw his keys down on the kitchen table, and stormed into the garage. With little regard for anything else, he slammed the door behind him and hopped into the first car he saw. It was an orange ‘72 Mustang Fastback with a fat black line down the hood. Dean swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat as he put her into reverse and pulled out of the garage. He drove at record speed to the park. 

It was only a five minute drive, but he did it in two and a half. He sped right past the cars parked at the red light and weaved his way back into the right line. The amount of horns he got blasted at him was absurd, but he honestly couldn’t hear them. His focus was singular. 

When he pulled into the parking lot, the first thing he noticed was that the impala was right there in the fourth parking space. He wasn’t sure whether that surprised him or upset him. Either way, he barely waited for the car to be stopped before he jumped out and ran to the playground.

“Sam?!” He yelled as he approached the play structures, eyes scanning the grass and wood chips but finding no sign of his brother or daughter. He yelled again, “Grace?!”

Nobody responded to him. 

But there was a middle-aged looking woman sitting cross-legged on one of the benches a few yards away with a little kid next to her, nursing a juicebox. Dean all but sprinted up to them, heart pounding and eyes burning.

“Excuse me, miss, have you seen a tall man with brown hair or a young girl with long blonde hair around here in the past few minutes?” He rushed out, not even stopping to tell her his name.

The woman looked taken aback, she blinked a few times and swallowed as if preparing to speak, but before she could, the young boy was interrupting. He looked shy and uncertain, but his voice was confident.

“You mean Grace.” He said quietly and Dean felt his heart tighten. 

“Grace is my daughter.” He fell to his knees in front of the little boy and begged, “Where did she go?”

He must have reeked of desperation and fear.

The little boy looked around and swallowed nervously before looking back at Dean. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, but the mother apparently took it as fear or discomfort because she put a hand in front of her son’s body and eyed Dean.

“You know, sir, I don’t appreciate you bombarding my son.” 

“I’m sorry, but my husband and daughter may be in danger. I need his help.” He shook his head and his eyes must have said it all because she shrunk back and nodded just the tiniest bit.

“We were playing on the monkey bars. We were taking turns. When it was my turn, I looked down and she was gone. I didn’t know where she went.” He spoke in short, abrupt sentences that had Dean’s mind racing a mile a minute, “I ran to the igloo because I know she’s afraid of it. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t in there. Then I fell asleep. I woke up and my mom was there. But Grace was gone.”

No, no, no… This was his nightmare. The one thing he was scared of more than anything else in the world. It was the reason he quit hunting. He didn’t ever want to have to worry about his child’s safety. Or Sam’s, for that matter. He didn’t ever want his daughter to fear for her life. She should never have to deal with the evil this corrupt world breeds. 

Dean couldn’t even finish thinking, because the mother was grabbing her kid’s arm and accusing, “You didn’t tell me any of that!”

The little boy shrugged, “I thought I might have imagined it.”

“Kid,” Dean asked immediately, completely ignoring the mother, “What about Grace’s other dad? Did you see him?”

He took a sip of juice before responding, “He was watching us from that bench over there. He was gone when I woke up.”

Dean followed the kid’s finger with his eyes. He didn’t even say thank you, just ran up to the bench and felt the life leave his body when he saw what was resting on the seat.

Sam’s book.

And that’s when he knew for sure. 

His husband was taken. And Grace was too.


	2. Waking up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Grace wake up in a new environment.

When Sam woke up, his head was pounding so bad he couldn’t open his eyes. Every time he tried, the light that filtered in made his skull split and he had to close his lids to stop the agony. He took in a deep breath and scrunched up his nose when he noticed the smell in the air. It was the moldy scent of mulch and moisture. That tangy aroma that occurs when a little too much rain mixes with a little too much dry dirt. 

“Daddy?” 

Grace.

Any and all of the cloudiness in his brain completely dissipated when he heard her voice. He opened his eyes against the throbbing agony and searched for the being who owned that sweet, broken sound. 

When his eyes found her, he felt a fear so intense it shut down his brain.

She was lying on her side, blonde hair in knots around her face. Her cheeks were stained with fat tears, and her lip was quivering. Her eyes were bright red and swollen. There were yellowing bruises on her wrists and holes in her tee shirt. 

“Grace.” He tested out his voice. It was strained and sounded like he hadn’t spoken in days. He cleared his throat before speaking again, “Are you okay?” 

“I think so.” She whimpered, her sniffles making Sam’s heart sink, “Where are we?”

He had to fight the nail gun going off in his head to focus on his daughter. She was about five yards away from him, both hands in cuffs that were secured around a large support beam. Her bare feet were pale and shaking on the wet concrete floor, scrapes on her knees right below where her shorts ended and bruises on her elbows. The rage Sam felt when he looked at her was incomparable to any other anger he’d ever felt in his life. Someone  _ touched  _ her. Someone  _ hurt _ his baby girl. 

“I don’t know, sweetie.” He answered honestly as he looked around and found no evidence of an address or even a remote setting. 

There were wet concrete floors. No windows. Support beams every couple yards. A staircase that switched angle as it went up. The smell of mold. From that much, Sam gathered that they were in a basement. Probably in the woods somewhere, given the smell.

He could see that Grace was on the verge of a meltdown. Call it father’s intuition or just an ability to read people in general, but Sam could see her emotions were gathering at the edge of a cliff and they were getting ready to jump. And she had a right to be upset- to have a fit. But, right now Sam still didn't know what the hell was happening or where they were, and until he figured that out, keeping her calm was preeminent. 

“Listen to me, everything is going to be okay.” He told his daughter in the most firm voice he could manage, “I promise. I need you to stay calm. I’m going to figure this out. Can you take a deep breath for me?” 

Grace nodded and did as told, taking in a deep breath before exhaling audibly. Sam smiled a bit; proud of how well she was holding herself together given the circumstances. 

“Good. Keep doing that.” He praised softly as he redirected his gaze to his own situation.

His hands were also tied behind his back and wrapped around a support beam that mirrored Grace’s. Only, his ankles were cuffed together too. It made sense that he’d have extra security- he was very obviously the bigger threat. His arms were already straining a bit, so he must’ve been unconscious for a while. He had no way of knowing how far away they were from where they were taken, but he figured it was pretty far. He could tell from his hunger and thirst that it had been at least a few hours. It certainly felt like he’d been unconscious for a good amount of time.

The basement wasn’t huge, but it was a good size. Big enough to walk around comfortably, but too small to live in. There was a leaky faucet in the corner and an ominous drain in the corner of the room.

_ drip. drip. drip. _

“Daddy?” 

Sam turned to look at Grace again, “What is it, baby girl?” 

As he waited for her to speak, he fiddled with the handcuffs around his wrists, measuring how difficult they would be to get off and how quickly he could escape. He knew his cellphone was gone. His captor would have to be a moron to leave it on him. Sam still double checked, moving his waist around to see if he could feel the familiar pressure of the device in his back pocket. But he was right, and it was gone. Dammit.

“I’m scared.” Grace whispered.

Sam let out a shaky, sorrow-filled breath. He felt the dread fill his gut. Never did he ever want his daughter to experience this type of fear. Dean and him, sure, they’d done it way too many times for it to phase them, but Grace?

“Don’t be scared.” He told her with a little smile that he could only hope looked more genuine than it felt, “I’m right here. And as long as I’m here, no one can hurt you. Okay?”

Grace gave him a little nod. 

Sam continued playing with the cuffs, but quickly realized that it was no use. They were way too tight around his wrists. Professional-caliber stuff. There was no way he was shimmying out of them without either a pick of some kind, or some serious bodily damage. He cursed just barely under his breath.

“What?” Grace asked, as if Sam had said something she had needed to hear.

He shook his head, “Nothing.”

Sam swallowed and looked around the room again. There was a warm yellow glow peeking out from under the door at the top of the stairs, but no lights on in the basement itself. It wasn’t too dark, so it couldn’t have been too late at night. But there was only one door. That meant only one exit. And it was one-way. 

“Hey, dad?” Grace asked a second later.

Sam sighed, a little tired of the questions. He was trying to focus on finding a solution. 

Regardless, he managed to ask without sounding too annoyed, “What?” 

Grace sniffled a bit before asking quietly, “Do you think papa is okay?”

Sam’s eyes widened just the tiniest bit at the question. It took him a second to think about. Once he did, however, Sam had to turn away from Grace to keep his reaction hidden. He bit down on his lip and closed his eyes to fight the tears back. He hadn’t even thought about Dean yet. What would he do?! What would he think when they didn’t come home at six, like Sam said they would? What kind of torment would he endure? 

Or what if… what if he was taken first? What if he wasn’t looking for Sam because Sam should be looking for him? Oh God… no, no, no… 

“Dad?” Grace asked again and only then did Sam realize how long he was taking. 

He took a deep breath and shoved down all his doubts. Dean was strong. He had to have faith that his brother was out there, searching for him. For  _ them _ . More importantly, he needed Grace to believe it. 

“I bet he’s out there looking for us right now.” He said as he turned his head back to her, wanting to reassure her as much as himself.

“But wh-” Grace was cut off in the middle of her sentence by the sound of footsteps above them and then the metallic clicking noise of a doorknob being turned. 

Sam could literally see the fear appearing on her face by the second, so he quickly pressed a finger to his mouth to silently ask her to be quiet. She maintained eye contact with Sam as the footsteps started coming down the stairs. He held her gaze, silently sending every message of comfort that he could.

_ It’s okay. I’ll protect you. Just look at me.  _

Eventually the footsteps stopped and Sam peeled his gaze away from Grace to look at the man standing at the bottom of the staircase. He didn’t recognize him.

The man was under six feet tall. He had black, curly hair that hung by his ears and dark eyes. He was pale and skinny looking. Sam felt a knock to his ego as he looked at him.  _ That _ guy was really able to take  _ him _ down?

Sam watched as the man’s eyes scanned over the room. They paused briefly on Grace and even longer on Sam. The hunter assured he was glaring knives when his captor held eye contact with him. It appeared the man just ate it up, though, because instead of acting intimidated, he seemed rather amused.

“Sam Winchester.” The man laughed a bit on the name as he moved towards him. 

His walk was slow and calculated like a dance. The pace he set was torturously slow, and arrogance was coming off of him in waves. He didn’t pay even a hint of attention to Grace on route to Sam.

Sam felt his chest tighten. This man knew who he was. His born-in-blood, birth-given name. No disguise. No codename. No counterfeit FBI title. No alibi. 

When the man was within two feet of Sam, he went down to his knees to be at eye level. He must have felt real fucking smug, because he leaned right into Sam’s face. He was so close, Sam could practically feel the carbon dioxide hitting his skin with each exhale the man let out.

A wicked smile took over his lips as he teased, “You went down pretty easy, partner. I honestly thought you’d be harder to capture. But here we are.” 

Sam had to choke down the anger and annoyance because he was trying so hard to figure out who the hell was in front of him and how the hell they knew his name. He hated the arrogant look on his face.

“You’re probably wondering who I am.” The mystery man read his mind, “All in good time, Sammy.”

Ohhh, and that triggered something.

Sam jerked on the handcuffs and all but barked, “Don’t call me that.”

The man laughed out loud before lowering his voice and mocking, “Uh oh, did I hit a sore spot,  _ Sammy _ ?” 

Sam growled and jerked on the cuffs again. If looks could kill, the man in front of Sam would be a corpse. He stared at him with a red hot gaze. Laser intensity.

“You know, you’ve changed since the last time I saw you.” The man smirked before leaning into Sam’s ear and whispering so close and quietly it made goosebumps rise on the younger Winchester’s skin, “Dean’s changed too.” 

Sam grinded his teeth together as the anger boiled over deep down inside of him. In a voice that was pure rage, he seethed, “Oh, I swear to God, if you hurt him…”

The man pushed his bottom lip out and shrugged, leaning in to whisper into Sam’s ear again, “Hurting Dean is the name of the game. Why do you think you two are here and he’s out there?” 

The man was close enough now that Sam took the opportunity to thrust his head down as hard as he could. He headbutt him right across the forehead and the man hissed as he retreated, bringing a hand up to his head and massaging it gently. He looked back at Sam with fire in his eyes. He was rage and fury personified. 

But then… 

Then his lips pulled up into a smirk. 

He looked away from Sam and looked towards Grave instead. Immediately, Sam’s heartbeat skyrocketed and his body tensed. He felt short of breath. Light headed.

“You don’t even  _ look  _ at her!” He barked, tugging at the chains again. He had some serious blistering happening on both his wrists and his forearms were burning, but he couldn’t care less. 

“Hey, little girl.” The man ignored Sam and moved to be in front of Grace, “Do you know what happens when daddy misbehaves?” 

“Grace, don’t answer him!” Sam yelled, still yanking at the cuffs, “Stay away from her!” 

Grace looked terrified. Pupils dilated, skin pale, sweat on her forehead. Tears pouring, hands shaking, lips quivering. 

“When daddy misbehaves, I don’t take it out on him. No.” He smiled wickedly again and raised his brows almost comedically, “I take it out on you.”

The man smiled widely before taking a hand and straightening it out. He brought his palm down hard and fast against Grace’s cheek and the girl shrieked. Sam’s own scream matched hers in pitch. 

“Get away from her!” He yelled, thrashing on the ground and tugging painfully at his restraints. 

His vision was red. The fury was like hot metal coursing through his veins.

“Get the hell away from her!” He screamed again.

The man just turned around slowly and smiled the tiniest bit- completely unphased. He tilted his head a bit before walking back over to Sam. 

“Happy to.” He shrugged like it was easy, “So long as you cooperate.” 

Sam glared at him and seethed through clenched teeth, spit falling from his mouth and hair in his face, “What do you want?!” 

Something must have resonated with the man because his smirk dipped a bit. His lips twitched uncomfortably, and as he kneeled down in front of Sam, his eyes filled with a newfound despair and hatred.

“What do I want?” He repeated Sam’s question quietly as he reached backwards. He grabbed something out of his back pocket and brought it forward. Sam felt his heart skip a beat when his eye caught the shiny silver length of a knife’s blade. The man brought it right up to Sam’s cheek and ran it down the length of his face with just the right amount of pressure to not break the skin. He continued, “I want your brother to feel the same pain he caused me. I want him to see you  _ die _ .” 

Grace cried out, “Please don’t hurt him!” 

The man completely ignored her though. Instead, he did the complete opposite of her request and sank the tip of the blade into Sam’s cheek. He cut a deep line from just below his eyelid to his top lip. Sam remained quiet the whole time, even managing to ignore his daughter’s pleas. 

Then the knife was sinking into his shoulder and carving along his collarbone. A long, jagged line that spilled blood like a collapsed dam. Sam locked his jaw and continued glaring daggers at the man in front of him. 

“Your brother ruined my family.” The man hummed as he slid the sharp blade over Sam’s forearm now, “Now, he’s going to see the person he loves most in agony. He’s gonna watch as I kill you. He’s going to feel what I felt.”

“No!” Grace sobbed and thrashed against her chains.

Sam swallowed and looked past the man to make eye contact with his daughter. She was crying buckets and her cheek was starting to bruise. 

“It’s okay, baby girl.” Sam called, just as the blade sank back into his arm. 

He shifted his gaze back to the man and asked with a dreadful and angry tone to his voice, “So why wait, then? Why haven’t you just done it already?” 

Sam winced as the knife slid into the palm of his hand.

The man smirked a little.

“Because you need to look the part, little bro.” He announced almost teasingly as he dug around with the blade, “Dean’s gotta see you in pain. No quick death for you. That wouldn’t hurt him nearly as bad. No… you have to suffer.” 

“Who the hell are you?!” Sam asked as he spit out blood from his bleeding lip, “Whatever Dean did to you, I promise you it was a mistake. Either that, or you don’t know the full story, because my brother is a _ good man _ !” 

The man shook his head and laughed as if Sam’s words were the funniest joke in the word. He leaned back on his ankles as he looked the hunter up and down. Once he was done laughing, he leaned back towards Sam and twisted the tip of the knife in the middle of his open palm.

“Oh Sam, always the optimist.” He sighed, amusement all over his face, “You’re brother is a monster. You’re just too close to him to see that. You know, I feel sorry for you. Honestly.”

Sam grimaced and growled, “You are one twisted, backwards son of a bitch, you know that?” 

The man actually looked offended at that. He raised his brows and his eyes filled with anger. He bit on the inside of his bottom lip and tilted his head once.

“Oh yeah?” He  _ dared  _ Sam to answer. With a newfound rage in his voice and body language, the man threw the knife to the ground and stood up. 

Sam watched with a thundering heart beat as he turned his back and strolled over to a table in the coroner of the room by Grace. He kept his mouth shut, knowing last time his outspokenness ended up hurting his daughter. He watched as the man opened the drawer underneath the table. It was only about 3 inches in height. But… he pulled out something that looked a hell of a lot like a blowtorch. Sam swallowed nervously as the man played with the buttons, showing it off. He then reached for another object in the drawer, and this time Sam’s heart skipped a few beats when he saw it.

A long, black, iron rod. It was rusted on one end and perfectly shiny on the other. Probably three feet long.

He knew what came next, and dammit, it was going to  _ suck _ .

The only thing keeping him hanging on was the knowledge that Dean was out there, free and uninhibited. He has never failed to find Sam before. He wasn’t going to start now. It was just a matter of lasting long enough.

And then there was Grace. His daughter was right across from him, big eyes filled with tears and pale cheeks. He had to stay strong for her. His facade was the most necessary thing right now, because it was keeping her calm. So long as pain was being inflicted on him, he had to keep a straight face. He had to keep reassuring her. After all, this guy said that he wanted Sam to  _ look  _ hurt. He shouldn’t care whether or not he actually shows his hurt in regards to his expressions or words. 

He just had to hang on.

Long enough for Dean to find him, and convincingly enough for Grace to remain calm.

So, as the man approached him with the blow torch and the iron rod, he just closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

“Gracie, baby?” He called when he opened his eyes again, in a voice that was as firm as he could manage. He was trying to breathe evenly while watching the man in front of him smother the rusted end of the iron rod with the fire from the blow torch. He cleared his throat and once Grace was looking at him, he instructed slowly, “I want you to look away right now. I want you to look down at the ground or at your shoes, okay? Do not watch this. I promise I’ll be okay, but I will be better if you look away. Do you hear me?” 

Grace cried out a bit, sniffling almost inaudibly. Sam sometimes overestimated her abilities. She was incredibly mature for her age, but staring at her now… all vulnerability and leaky eyes… it suddenly hit him how young she truly was. She was only eleven. Fifth grade. This was way too much for her to handle. He was expecting too much out of her. 

But he didn’t have a choice.

“Dad…” She pleaded, head tilting and body shaking.

The iron rod in front of him was becoming redder by the second. The metal was turning bright orange. Glowing. 

Sam’s throat was clogging up. He couldn’t have Grace see this. He couldn’t. 

“Please, honey. Please.” He begged back, watching her intently with desperation in his eyes, “I need you to do this for me.” 

He knew it was kind of a low blow. He definitely wouldn't be able to look away if someone he loved was being tortured right in front of him. But… 

He watched as her gaze trailed down. She tilted her head down to look at her converse. Her blonde hair fell in front of her face in messy curtains. Honest to God… Sam was impressed.

That emotion was very quickly wiped away by the feeling of his skin melting off.

The man had taken the red hot iron and placed it to Sam’s forehead, right between his eyebrows and hairline. He pressed it there for a moment. Long enough for Sam to smell his flesh burning. Long enough for him to bite right through his cheek. Long enough to thrash against the chains and have tears come falling down his cheeks.

When he pulled it away, the pain was almost worse. The oxygen hit it like alcohol on an open wound. It burned and stung against the air and Sam squirmed. He juggled his head around to try and distract himself from the agony. No use.

“Doesn’t feel great, does it, Sammy boy?” The man teased, bringing the hot end down against his collarbone again and laughing as Sam groaned and seethed.

It wasn’t escaping Sam that the man was sticking to his upper body. He was being performative. It was all about appearances. 

“Let’s get some more surface area, huh?” The man smiled as he dropped the iron rod and picked up the knife again. 

With one smooth motion, he slit open the entire front of Sam’s tee shirt down the middle. He peeled the parts back before slicing the sleeves off too and disregarding the material entirely. Sam felt his heart thundering away as he realized how much new skin was just revealed. A sense of vulnerability took over his body and he swallowed uncomfortably.

“That’s more like it.” The man smiled, and then the iron rod was back in his hand and pressing into Sam’s right pec.

The younger Winchester couldn’t hold back a scream this time. He kept his eyes on Grace as motivation to control his reactions, but goddamit, it was  _ so fucking bad _ . 

There was ten minutes of that. Slices and burns across his entire torso and down the length of his spine. Grace stayed looking down the whole time, for which Sam was grateful. Sam fought the man to the best of his ability. Kicking, elbowing, just squirming in general. But the man just laughed.

Eventually Sam had enough. The man was about to bring the iron rod to the V of his pelvis and Sam forgot about everything but the agony he was in. He thrust his hips forward in such a way that pushed the iron rod into his skin, but also right back into the man. He hissed when it hit him hard in the gut.

The rod fell to the floor. 

The man was radiating anger. His eyes were pure fire. 

And then they were  _ sick _ . Twisted. Sociopathic.

He smiled overly wide and turned to Grace. He approached Grace with a walk that was more of a skip. Almost joyful, the twisted motherfucker.

“No!” Sam yelled, voice raw and ripping at his throat.

The man just laughed before grabbing Grace’s chin and yanking it up so she was looking at him. 

“Please, no.” The eleven year old pleaded quietly and Sam felt the fire in his gut spread.

The man just shrugged.

“I told your father what would happen if he misbehaved.” He justified as he slid the knife out of his pocket and balanced it in his palm, “He did it anyway.”

As the knife got closer to Grace, something animalistic invaded Sam’s body. The chemicals in his brain boiled over and his body became herculean. Nothing mattered but stopping that damn knife. Protecting his only child. Dean’s child. 

The adrenaline was almost dangerously invasive. It coursed through his veins and drove every one of Sam’s next moves. 

He pushed his thumb right out of the socket and thrust his hand so hard it came out of the cuff, breaking a few bones in the process. He didn’t even feel the pain. He was unbounded by the support beam with only one handcuff on, so he raced forward as fast as he could on restrained feet and body slammed into the man just in time to stop him from hurting Grace.

“Daddy!” She screamed in surprise, messing with her own handcuffs in an effort to get them off and help. To no avail. 

“That was stupid, Sam!” The man screamed as they tussled on the concrete floor. 

Sam was still on top of him, but the adrenaline was wearing off fast and all the mind-numbing agony was surfacing. He was losing steam. Fast. But he also knew this might be his only chance to get Grace out of there safe. 

It took a few minutes or wrestling on the ground, but eventually Sam was able to take advantage of the sheer amount of body mass he had on the guy and was able to choke him out. He didn’t want to kill him. Just buy time. 

Once the man’s eyes fluttered closed, Sam limped over to Grace and brought a hand up to her cheek. He swiped his thumb over her cheek and smiled, “Hi, baby girl. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

“You’re hurt.” She cried as her eyes pored over him, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

He reached back and with the knife -which he must’ve pickpocketed off of the man while they were tusseling on the ground- to unlock her handcuffs. She was easier to get out because her wrists were so small.

“I’m okay. It’s okay.” He held out a hand and helped her stand up, looking over his shoulder to check on the man. He let out a relieved sigh when he saw that he was still unconscious. 

He quickly undid the cuffs around his ankles and then ushered Grace to the stairs with a hand on her back. Grace ran up them no problem, scampering and taking two steps at a time. Sam was slower. The pain was dragging him down. That, and the severe blood loss. He had to pause a few steps up and catch his breath. Grace looked down, concerned.

“Daddy, come on!” She ran back down to meet him and grabbed his forearm with her tiny hands, pulling, “We have to go!” 

It happened in seconds, after that.

One minute they were on the stairs on the way to escape, and the next, the man was awake again and running up to Sam. He was able to take him dwn easy, given his blood loss and exhaustion. Sam fell to the floor and blinked up tiredly. He was so incredibly pale.

Once he was done, it became very evident that he was in no shape to make an escape, so the man turned to the stairs and raced forward to grab Grace. Right before he could, though, Sam latched onto his ankle and pulled him back.

“Let her go.” He whispered, swallowing around his dry mouth and breathing out little hitched gasps, “Let her go and I’ll make you a deal.”

The man raised a brow and leaned down towards Sam.

“And what deal would that be?”

Sam rocked his head back and forth a bit before answering quietly, “You let her go, I will stop fighting back. You can do whatever the hell you want to me. I won’t complain. I won’t fight back. I promise.”

The man looked to be seriously considering it for a moment.

And then a grin took over his face.

He didn’t respond to Sam. Instead, he stood up, walked up to Grace, and then passed her on the stairs. He walked right up to the top stair, unlocked the door, and stood there like a polite concierge with one arm extended in offering towards the open door. The escape. Grace looked conflicted. She turned to Sam and sobbed.

“I don’t want to leave you.”

Sam felt his chest tighten, but he just sent her a look that said it all.

_ This is how you help me. Find Dean. Tell him everything. Send help. _

She nodded just barely and took the stairs up to the door. Right before she stepped through the doorway, she yelled, “I love you!”

Sam let a single tear cut down his cheek as he watched her escape.

The door slammed shut behind her.

“Alright, Sammy. Now the real fun begins.”


	3. Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediately after Grace’s escape, she seeks out Dean. He continues his frantic search for his family.

Two days.

It had been two whole days, and Dean wasn’t any closer to finding his family.

He was starting to go insane. Imagining every worst possible case scenario. Every time he thought of Sam and Grace in pain, alone, not knowing if he was coming for them… he choked himself up. He had to distance himself.

He was at his worst, today. Around 2:00pm. A Tuesday.

The most solid lead he had was the video cameras at the playground, and just today he went to the sheriff’s station to pull up the film, but… it had all been wiped. Whoever took Sam and Grace… they were smart. And that was never a good thing for a kidnapper to be.

All day after leaving the sheriff's station empty handed, Dean tracked down numerous people that were at the park on the day his family was taken. He checked in with Grace’s little boy friend again and some other kids he pinpointed to being around somewhere in the time frame.

Nothing.

Now he was sitting in the impala, forehead against the top of the steering wheel, thinking through everything. What he had done, what he didn’t do, what he still could do… 

He was on the verge of giving up for the day and driving back to the bunker to do research when his phone rang. He was on such high alert, he hit answer on the first ring and pulled it up to his ear. 

“Who’s there?” Dean asked immediately, silently praying to every God that anyone ever believed in that it was Sammy on the other end of the phone. 

No such luck.

_ “Papa!” _ it was Grace who shrieked into the phone, her voice thin and high-pitched in between her breaths, which were hitched and gasping. 

The sound of his little girl’s voice so debauched and  _ terrified _ made every hair on Dean’s body stick straight up. A paralyzing horror spread through his body like icy, liquid metal. He clenched his fists and tried his hardest to stop his hands from trembling. His throat closed in threat of screaming at anyone -everyone- and his jaw became tight. Fire in the form of water stung his eyes, threatening to attack. He clenched his teeth over his lip harder than he ever had before. Salty blood filled his mouth. Slowly, reality tapped its way into his marching brain's rhythm. Grace was scared. She was alone. He needed to help her. That was all.

“I’m here, Gracie, ‘m here. Listen to me, this is important.” He told her, clearing his throat to keep it firm and comforting, “Are you safe?” 

There was a cry on the other end of the phone and he felt his chest tighten even more before she started rambling,  _ “I’m in a phone booth… I… I don’t know where I am. Papa, I’m so scared. Dad is still back there, he’s hurting him! I don’t know what to do!” _

Dean pulled the phone away from his ear and choked down all the curses and sobs on the tip of his tongue. His heart was beating so fast and loud he could hear it in his ears. He had to take a second to think. 

Sam and Grace were taken by someone, or multiple someones. Sam was still in danger. Sam was hurting. Grace got away. She was scared. He was  _ nowhere  _ near her.

“Okay, okay. I want you to take a deep breath and listen to every word I say. Do everything I tell you. No questions asked.” He announced, gripping the phone so tight he swore he could hear a faint crack. 

There was a faint, choked up breath on the other end but no response, and Dean felt all the emotions boil over. He didn’t mean to, but he yelled, “Grace, I need verbal confirmation!” 

There was another muffled cry followed by a strangled, _ “Yes.” _

“Look around. What do you see?” Dean asked, leaning his head against the steering wheel as he closed his eyes and tried to keep himself from falling apart.

_ “There’s a gas station.” _ She said, voice still wavering,  _ “The phone booth. There’s a road and a sign for a motel a few streets down. A restaurant. A lot of dead grass. There aren’t many cars.”  _

“Okay. That’s good.” Dean assured her, his brain moving a mile a minute as he sorted through her options and what she could do, “Right now, you are going to run to the motel down the road. Do you have the emergency credit card on you?”

He waited a moment for her faint reply,  _ “I think so.” _

“Check.” He commanded immediately, his ears still filled with white noise and the sound of his own thundering heartbeat. 

Sam and Grace were taken. Sam’s in danger. He’s not there.

_ “I have it.”  _ She announced after a moment and Dean sighed in relief.

“Good. Go to the motel. Check into a room.” He told her firmly in the voice he only used in life or death situations. It was his shut-up-and-listen voice.

“Lock the doors and all the windows behind you.” He continued, “Do the salt lines. Then you are going to pick up the phone and call me right back. No stops, you run all the way there. You ignore anyone that tries to help you. Now, repeat that back to me.” 

There was no room for miscommunication. Even one inch off, and there was an astronomical increase in risk.

_ “Run to the motel, don’t stop.” _ She repeated and Dean mouthed the words as she said them,  _ “Check into a room. Lock the doors and windows, do the salt lines, call you.” _

“Good.” He asserted. It was difficult to remember that he was still talking to his little girl. Grace was eleven. She wasn’t supposed to be dealing with this crap. And he shouldn’t have to treat her like a soldier. So, he breathed out and did what Sam would’ve done; added a bit of comfort.

“Everything will be okay, I promise,” He said sincerely before urging seriously, “But you need to take everything 100% seriously because this is life or death. Now, move.”

Suddenly there was a cry on the other end, and Grace’s voice was a flat-out whimper when she whined,  _ “I don’t want to hang up.” _

And God Dammit if that didn’t stick a knife right into Dean’s chest.

“I know.” He cooed, voice heavy with emotions, “Believe me, I know. But you have to do this.”

After a moment, he added the one thing he knew would galvanize her more than anything: “Do this for dad, okay?”

_ “Okay.” _ Was her immediate response, and Dean swallowed down the pride he felt at her courage when she added,  _ “Bye, Papa.” _

He let out a shaky breath and instead of saying goodbye back, simply told her, “Be careful.” 

Not twenty minutes later, his phone was ringing again.

“Grace.” He answered immediately, knowing it was her from the unknown number and the sound of her shaky breathing on the other end of the phone. Quickly, he asked, “Are the salt lines done?”

_ “Yes.”  _ She answered, and she sounded calmer now. Dean was at least thankful for that,  _ “Everything is locked too.” _

“Good.” He breathed out, “That’s really good. Now, I need you to find out where you are. Find a sign, or a map, or a local news channel. Anything.” 

Dean waited for a moment. He felt his heart beat racing in his chest as he heard the rustling of paper on the other end of the phone. Eventually, Grace returned.

_ “There’s a newspaper.”  _ She told him,  _ “It says Emmet Times.” _

Dean tilted his head and thought for a moment. Emmet wasn’t too, too far. It could be worse. He was about four hours away from there. Given how long Sam and Grace had been gone, they could've gotten a lot farther than Nebraska.

“Okay. Okay.” He breathed out, “Emmet is in Nebraska.”

_ “Is that good or bad?”  _ Grace asked and Dean smiled just the tiniest bit. 

His daughter was so mature and dependable for an eleven year old that sometimes he forgot about her innocence and youth. It manifested in moments like this. When she didn’t know how close Nebraska was to Lebanon. For some odd reason, it gave Dean a little bit of hope.

“It’s better than it could have been.” He told her before elaborating, “I’m about four hours away from you, kiddo. I will be there as soon as I possibly can be. Now, I need you to tell me everything. Who took you, how you got away, how far you got away from there, where is dad?” 

She hummed for a second in contemplation before recalling,  _ “I never heard a name. It was a man, though. He didn’t look very old. Black hair, kinda curly.” _

Dean nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. The next question he had lined up came out in a rushed breath, “Was it just the one guy?”

_ “Yes.”  _ She said immediately before continuing,  _ “But he had some glowy thing. It was the only reason he got dad. He wouldn’t stand a chance against him without it. It must be some type of magic.” _

Dean felt a hint of pride in his chest. Damn right nobody was a match for his Sammy. He was glad his daughter knew it, too. 

“Keep going.” He sighed, watching the road with laser focus as he listened to her intently, “How did you get away and how far did you get?” 

_ “I only got away because of dad.”  _ And Dean could tell by the change in her pitch that she was fighting tears,  _ “He broke his hand to get me out. The man was going to stop me but dad wouldn’t let him hurt me. He made some sort of deal with him, but I couldn’t hear. Then he let me go. I ran until I found a city and a phonebooth and then I called you.” _

Dean pulled the phone away from his ear for a moment to catch his breath. His body was all tensed up and there was sweat clinging onto his every inch. The fear was like fog in the air, thick and tangible. Sam saved Grace. He was the selfless, amazing human that Dean knew him to be. And now he was in deep. Whatever was going on, Dean had to get to him  _ fast _ .

“Okay.” He breathed out, “Okay. Do you think you could find the place again?”

_ “I don’t want to go back there.”  _ Grace’s voice was laced with fear and dread.

“You won’t.” Dean immediately told her, knowing with every bit of his soul that he wouldn’t let Grace anywhere near a man that could possibly hurt her, “But I have to. Could you guide me from where you are?”

_ “Yes.”  _

“Okay.” He nodded, “Give me the name of the motel you’re at and the room number, baby girl.” 

_ “Ramille’s. 107.” _

He thought for a moment. It was still going to be four hours before he got to her. She was going to be alone for hours. The man may have let her go, but who knows whether or not he would come back for her. Regardless, he didn’t like leaving her alone in a random hotel in bumfuck Nebraska while he was hours away. Upon second thought, he realized that Sioux Falls was closer to Emmet than Lebanon by about an hour.  _ Jody _ .

“I’m going to send Jody, okay?” He told her, already knowing the sheriff would say yes if he asked, “And I’m on my way. Sit tight. Be careful. Don’t trust anyone. Don’t even let room service in. If it’s Jody or me, we will knock three times, pause, and knock twice more. Only open the door when you hear that. Do you understand me?”

_ “I understand.”  _ She answered, voice still shaky and breaths still hitched.

“Repeat it back.” Dean told her, not taking any risks. This was too serious. There was too much on the line.

_ “Only open the door if it’s three knocks, a pause, and then two more.”  _ She repeated, nearly militarily. 

Dean smiled as big as he could given the circumstances. With a sigh, he praised, “That’s my girl.”

There was a pause, a faint hiccup, and then her voice was filtering back in through the phone… soft and unsure.

_ “Papa… I think the deal dad made was bad. You need to…”  _ She choked a bit before finishing, _ “You need to get to him fast.” _

Dean’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. He knew this was bad. Really,  _ really  _ bad. But he also knew that he had a duty as a father to put his child first. And that even meant putting her before Sam.

“Don’t worry about dad right now.” He told her, knowing that the only way she could possibly calm down is if she didn’t think about Sam, “Worry about staying safe. I promise you that I won’t let anything bad happen to him.”

_ “Okay.”  _ She whispered, and there was a hint of disbelief in her voice, but Dean didn’t have the time or bandwidth to read too much more into it right now. He had to drive.

“I love you so much, Gracie.” He let out in a strangled breath, his voice choking up near the end of his sentiment. He just needed her to hear it. She had to know.

_ “I love you too.”  _ She said back easily, and Dean felt his heart flutter. 

He wanted Sam next to him so fucking bad. He wanted to be holding his hand and driving to their girl  _ together _ . If Sammy was there, he would be comforting Gracie so much better than Dean could. He was so much better in that role. 

“Jody will be there soon.” Was all he could say, “Stay safe.”

_ “You too, Papa.”  _ She echoed.

The second the call dropped off, Dean was hitting Jody’s contact. It must’ve been some sort of speed record for switching between phone calls. He did it on pure instinct, not even thinking about it as he brought the phone up to his ear. The traffic light changed to green and he stepped on the gas.

On the third ring, the beeping stopped. Before the sheriff could speak, Dean was shouting.

“Jody?”

_ “Dean, hey!” _ Her voice was far too joyful,  _ “It’s been too long!” _

Dean didn’t have the time for bland conversation. And more importantly, Sam didn’t have the time for it. He had to get down to the point. Fast.

“I know, and I’d love to catch up, but right now I need you to get in your car and drive to Emmet, Nebraska.” He told her in a rushed out, yet firm voice, “There is a motel in town called Ramille’s, room 107. Grace is there and she’s alone. You’re closer to her than I am. Sam is in trouble, and I need someone to stay with her while I find him.”

As he expected, Jody immediately agreed,  _ “Oh my God, of course. I’m on my way.” _

Her voice was shaky and frightful. Any other day, Dean would try his best to reassure her. But he didn’t have it in him right now. Not today. Not when Sam’s life was on the line. 

So instead, he just acknowledged, “Thank you, Jody.”

_ “Don’t thank me.”  _ She returned immediately, her voice still semi-frail,  _ “Save our boy.” _

Dean felt himself choke up as he took a right turn. He had to blink away the tears threatening to fall before speaking, “I will.”

A moment passed, and then he remembered… 

“Oh, and Sheriff?”

_ “What’s up?” _

“When you get to Grace, knock three times, pause, and then knock two more.” He instructed, “That’s how she’ll know it’s you.”

_ “Got it. Three knocks, pause, two more.” _ She returned and Dean smiled a little at the fact that he didn’t even have to ask her to repeat it for her to know,  _ “Be careful, Dean.” _

He swallowed before answering, “You too.”

And with that, they both hung up and Dean was hitting the floor of the car with his foot on the gas pedal. He couldn’t get the car to go fast enough.

——————

Three knocks. Pause. Two more.

Dean heard footsteps come running towards him from the opposite side of the door, thundering loud and clumsy. His heart was pounding, his hands were shaking, and his brain was racing. 

When the door flung open, all the air was knocked from his lungs. Grace was right in front of him, shiny tears streaming down her pale cheeks. Her eyes were wide and ever so hazel. Her lips were quaking and her hair was a mess, strands pulled over to the wrong sides and knots at the ends. Her tee shirt was hanging off one shoulder and it was stained with dirt and… oh God, that was blood. 

He just barely had time to drop to his knees before she leaped into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing tight, sobs tumbling from her mouth. Dean closed his eyes to stop his own tears from falling as he placed a hand on the back of her head and soothed his fingers down her scalp.

“Sh, sh.” He cooed, trying to get her to calm down and stop crying, “It’s okay. You’re okay.” 

“I’m so sorry, papa.” She sobbed into his neck, her words barely audible with how heavily she was crying. 

Dean knit his eyebrows in confusion, he pulled back away from her so he could look in her eyes. Only then did he finally get a glimpse of Jody, who was standing a few yards back from Grace and him. He ignored her for now. Gently, he placed a palm on Grace’s cheek and swiped his thumb over her skin to wipe away the tears.

“What on earth are you sorry for?” He asked softly.

Her lip quivered and she looked away from Dean, like eye contact was too hard. Her voice was soft and hollow as she admitted, “He was in so much pain. He was trying to hide it from me, but I could tell. And then I just left him all alone. I should have stayed so he wasn’t alone.” 

Dean shook his head immediately, swallowing to shove down the emotions her confession brought up. He had to focus on Grace right now, not Sam. As hard as it was.

“Look at me.” He whispered, and when she didn’t move, he used his hand under her chin to guide her gaze back to him, “Sweetie, look at me.”

Once she was finally making eye contact, he spoke determinedly, “You have nothing to apologize for. You did the right thing. You did exactly what Daddy wanted you to do. If you didn’t, I wouldn’t have been able to find you so quickly. I am so,  _ so _ proud of you, Gracie.”

“You’re just saying that.” She mumbled, looking down. The guilt on her face was making Dean’s heart ache.

“Grace.” He sighed, “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t know that dad is in Emmet, Nebraska. I wouldn’t know where you both were taken. You did that. You gave me a chance to save him.”

She looked to be considering it for a moment, and then she took on that expression that was so utterly Sam-like. Her lips pinched up, eyes dropped down, brows narrowed in. It was the exact face Sam made when someone complimented him and he was uncomfortable accepting it. It was the  _ you’re-right-but-I-don’t-want-to-say-it _ face. 

She kicked her foot a bit and mumbled, “Kind of, I guess.”

Dean smiled just barely, clapping a hand down on her shoulder lovingly. She was 100% Sam right now- her words, her face, her mannerisms. Dean had to shake it off in order to look up at Jody, who had tear stains on her own cheeks. Before he could address her, however, Grace was interrupting.

“There’s something I need to tell you.” She announced, her voice hushed and unsure. 

Dean furrowed his brows before dropping his gaze back to her and prompting, “What is it?”

She took a deep, shaky breath before leaning into his ear. Dean reacted immediately, tilting his head so she could reach his ear easier. 

“The man.” She whispered, “When he let me go, I overheard him talking to dad. Not much, it was all muddled, but… he said that he was getting payback.”

Dean jerked his head a little. He knew when this whole thing started that someone wanting to get revenge on Dean was likely the case, but he needed more information. 

“Payback? On who?” He asked, using what Sam called his ‘dad voice’. It was the perfect mix of gentle and firm.

Grace swallowed unevenly before answering.

“On you. He said he was getting payback on you for ruining his family.” Her breath got caught and the rest of her words were strained, “Papa, what did you do?” 

Dean let out a loud sigh and counted to five in his head to level himself before responding. He soothed a hand down Grace’s shoulder as he told her as truthfully as he could, “I don’t know. But don’t worry, okay? Everything will be okay. I do have to go, though.”

Those last six words visibly struck something in his daughter. Her body tensed up and the cries started again, albeit less intensely.

“I want to come with you.” She whimpered, looking at him with those puppy dog eyes that were also  _ soooo  _ Sam.

“I know, baby girl.” He spoke softly, and it was killing him to deny her, but he knew this was what he had to do, “But I can’t save Dad if I’m worried about you. I need to do this on my own. Do you think you can be brave for me and stay with Jody for a few days?” 

There were a few long moments of sustained eye contact, but eventually she gave a small nod.

“That’s my girl.” Dean smiled tightly, feeling the pride deep in his chest.

He stood up from the ground then and walked up to Jody, keeping a hand on Grace’s shoulder as she trailed next to him. He reached a hand out to shake the sheriff’s hand, but Jody just scoffed.

“As if.” She rolled her eyes playfully before pulling Dean into a hug, “Come here.”

Dean let his head drop onto her shoulder and shut himself down when he felt the tears burn in his eyes and throat. The embrace was threatening to bring up every one of Dean’s fears and all of his physical reactions to them, so he had to break off. He pulled away and cleared his throat.

As he looked down at Grace, he asked quietly, “Gracie, if I gave you a map, do you think you could find the place where daddy is?”

Grace looked down for a moment and knit her brows. A few heavy seconds passed before she looked up and affirmed, “I think so.”

Dean looked relieved. His shoulders dropped a bit and his eyebrows lifted. With a subtle movement of his arm and hand, he pulled a thin, folded up sheet of paper out of his back pocket and laid it down on the closest bed. He flattened the sheet out, and it became obvious that it was a map of the city. Grace took a deep breath, knowing this was vital and that if she messed it up, there would be major,  _ major  _ consequences.

“Where did you get that?” Jody asked as Grace looked it over, eyes scanning wildly over the paper.

“Gas station a few blocks down.” Dean answered quickly before leaning down and pointing to a place on the map, “This is where we are, Grace. Can you backtrace it?”

She let out a deep breath, grazed over the lines and symbols with her eyes, and then nodded. Sam taught her about tracking location, and Sam didn’t do anything halfway.

“I ran to the motel from this station.” She traced the entire path with her finger, “Before that, I ran down a dirt road for ten minutes, and that was from Grove Street, which I ran on for about two minutes after taking a right from Bennington Drive. Then I ran through a couple backyards, so I wasn’t on the traffic cams on major streets, Then the fire station. The cabin they’re in is about twenty minutes deep into the campground here. It was a small house, but there’s a big basement and a large empty space. They should be right around here.”

Jody let out a half-sigh, half-gasp that was filled with pure awe. She stepped forward and shook her head in amazement.

“Intelligent girl.” She pointed out, impressed and astounded by her knowledge and ability.

Dean beamed a little bit at the praise for his little girl before telling Jody with a sad smile, “Sammy taught her well.”

Jody smiled back before a dark haze clouded over her face at the sad realization that Sam wasn’t here right now. He was still in danger. He could be… no. Dean was  _ not  _ going there. And Jody wasn’t either.

“I don’t doubt it.” She agreed simply.

Dean nodded before turning back to Grace and instructing softly, “Leave your finger there.” 

She nodded and kept her pointer finger on the same spot as Dean reached for a pen. He reached over her body and drew a big, dark star over the place she was pointing to. 

“Okay, you can let go.” He told her once he had the spot marked. 

She released her finger and looked up to Dean, dread filling her eyes. Now that Dean had the location marked down, she knew what came next.

“Papa?” She asked quietly, trying to be a ‘big girl’ and keep her voice from shaking. No such luck.

Dean looked at her with expectant eyes, “Yeah?”

“Be careful.” She told him, biting down on her lip and breathing out, “Don’t do anything stupid. I can’t lose Dad, but I  _ really  _ can’t lose both of you.”

A determined and almost angry look took over Dean’s face as he heard her say those words. He shook his head and locked his jaw before telling her with one hundred percent effort and determination, “You’re not going to lose  _ anyone. _ ”

She nodded softly, and Dean took a deep breath before finishing in a calmer voice, “I have to go, now. You be good for Jody.”

Jody took the cue and stepped up to Grace, bringing a hand down to rest on each of her shoulders. She ran a hand through her blonde hair and smiled a little when Grace leaned into her arms. 

“She’ll be great.” She told Dean with a smile that held a whole crap-ton of emotions before redirecting her focus to Grace and asking sweetly, “Come on kiddo, there’s a cafe downstairs, how does hot chocolate sound?”

Grace worried her lip between her teeth and looked back and forth between Dean and Jody for a moment before reluctantly agreeing, “Okay.”

Dean let out a relieved sigh. He reached down to squeeze Grace’s hand as he looked up at Jody and told her genuinely, “Thank you, Jody.”

The sheriff immediately shook her head and waved him off. She spoke with complete sincerity as she assured him, “You never have to thank me. Be safe. Bring Sam home.”

Dean had to fight back the tears at those last three words. It kept hitting him at different times that Sam was still in peril here. Regardless, he gave a firm nod before picking up the map and car keys, and heading for the door.

At the last second, he was stopped by Grace.

“Wait!” His daughter yelled from behind him, and Dean turned around just in time for her to fling herself at him.

She wrapped her arms around his waist tightly and he sighed, closing his eyes as he embraced her back. He placed a hand on the back of her head and nearly collapsed when she spoke.

“I love you.” She sniffled, rubbing her wet eyes on his tee shirt, “Promise you’ll tell dad I love him, too?”

“I promise.” He nodded and bit his lip before returning the sentiment, “I love you too, Gracie.”

After a moment, Dean pulled away. He leaned down to press a quick kiss to her cheek before moving to the door. He gave one glance back at Jody and she gave him a curt nod. 

And then he was gone. 


	4. Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam reels in the aftermath of Grace’s escape and Dean continues searching for his brother.

Sam remembered Grace escaping. He remembered being tied back up. He remembered the man slicing up his back a few more times before disappearing upstairs.

What he didn’t remember was how long ago all of that was. 

It’s funny how time distorts when you’re doing nothing but staring at four grays walls and a wet concrete floor. 

He didn’t have a clock. A watch. A phone. Not even a window to check how light or dark it was.

It could’ve been hours since the last time his captor was down here with him. It could’ve been days. Hell, it could’ve been  _ minutes _ . 

His entire body was throbbing and stinging. There was a burning all over his chest and back; the cuts that littered his torso exuding fire. The place where the iron rod burned his cheek was horrible. The skin was so damn sensitive. It throbbed and stung like a bitch, and there was nothing he could do about it. His hand was the worst, however. He figured there were at least three broken bones in his hand and wrist. His thumb was still dislocated, and that feeling alone made him nauseous. The man had shoved the cuffs back onto his wrists and Sam’s hand was so swollen that it felt so much tighter than before. The metal dug into his swollen skin and put pressure on his broken bones. It  _ hurt _ . 

There was also the exhaustion.

He had lost so much blood that everything was a bit hazy. He was lightheaded. His breath was shallow. He felt weak. His skin was cold and clammy. 

His whole body felt heavy. He didn’t think he could move if he wanted to. And every time his eyes closed, he saw visions behind his eyelids that lasted for he didn’t know how long. He was probably hallucinating because he kept hearing Dean’s voice and that wasn’t real. He knew it wasn’t real. 

He was starting to lose hope. He wouldn’t even admit it to himself, but Grace had left what felt like hours ago. Maybe days. And still no word from Dean. He should’ve come by now. 

But he tried not to think about that. Instead, he tried to stay awake despite his exhaustion. He floated in and out of consciousness for hours. 

By the time his captor came back down the stairs, most of his cuts had stopped bleeding and he was sweating bullets. He was starving, dehydrated, and slowly but surely giving into blood loss. 

“Oh Sammy,” The man whistled lowly, “I gotta say, pal, you’re not looking so hot.”

Sam would’ve fought back if he had the energy. Or any motivation whatsoever. But he didn’t.

“Don’t worry. I’m not here to hurt you.” He raised his hands in surrender before continuing with a smirk, “I just want to get you set up. We’ve got a big show coming up.” 

Sam knit his brows together.

“What?” He whispered groggily.

The man knelt down in front of Sam and tilted his head a bit before answering, “Tonight’s the night you die.”

Sam felt his heart start pounding faster, but his actual reaction was incredibly underwhelming. He barely budged. Maybe it was the blood loss or his history with death-not-sticking, but for some reason, the threat just didn’t phase him much. 

“So that’s your grand plan, right? Kill me. So, why wait?” Sam asked, shivering and wincing as his body moved uncomfortably, “Why haven’t you done it already?” 

The man smiled widely, “Isn’t it obvious? I want your brother to watch!” 

Sam felt his gut twist. 

“And just what did Dean do that was so bad?” He asked, practically pleading, “You have nothing to lose by telling me if you’re just gonna kill me, right? Who are you?” 

A shadow passed over the man’s face and he swallowed so hard, Sam could see the Adam’s apple bob in his throat. His eyes flicked over Sam’s limp body and after a moment he stood up. He turned his back to Sam and breathed out.

“Dean Winchester was like a father to me.” He regarded solemnly and Sam furrowed his brows, “He took me to baseball games. Drove me to school. He made me feel special. Loved. He made my mother happy. That’s all I ever could’ve wanted.”

Sam was so utterly confused, now. Was this guy insane or did Dean have a whole section of history that Sam didn’t know about? A pretty damn big section, at that.

“But then out of nowhere, he left us. He left my mother alone, and two years after he left, she was killed. An angel slit her throat in her sleep. Dean… Dean knew about the things that were out there. And yet he left us, anyway. Knowing the dangers. And now my mother is dead. Because he left.” 

A tear cut down his cheek, and Sam felt the realization slam into him like a bus. He raised his brows and whispered shocked and abrupt, 

“Ben.”

And the man -Ben- brought a finger up to his nose in a gesture as he announced, “Bingo.”

“I don’t…” Sam shook his head, confused as all hell, “That doesn’t make any sense. Dean had your memories wiped.”

“Yeah, well, when my mom died… I knew something was wrong with the way she went. It wasn’t  _ natural _ . So I dug into all things monsters. I sold my soul to find out the truth. And I recovered my memories in the process. I remembered Dean, and all the things he did. He’s a  _ monster _ .”

Sam shook his head and announced with his whole heart and soul, “You’re wrong.”

“I’m right.” Ben growled back, turning back towards Sam, “You’re just too close to him to see it. He killed my  _ mother _ !”

“Ben…” Sam pleaded, “If you truly know Dean, you  _ know _ that’s not true. He is a  _ good _ man. He didn’t kill your mom.”

Ben locked his jaw and shook his head.

“No.” He agreed before suddenly bursting, “But he did leave her vulnerable! He left us when he knew we were targets.  _ He  _ put her life on the line, and now I want Dean to see the person  _ he _ loves die bloody. Just like I did!”

Sam flinched as Ben’s voice raised.

“I want him to feel the pain I feel  _ every single day!  _ He tore apart my family, and now I’m gonna tear apart his.” Ben paused and then laughed wickedly, “And I want him to see it happen, right before his eyes, and know that he has no way to stop it.”

A moment paused as Sam drew in a breath. He was very quickly realizing that nothing he could say would change what Ben believed. 

“You are one sick son of a bitch.” He growled as he glared at the younger man.

“Hey!” Ben screamed and brought a palm down hard against Sam’s already sliced-open cheek, “That’s my mother you’re talking about!” 

Sam winced and maneuvered a bit to take some of the strain off of his arms. He cursed under his breath at the pain. 

“Lisa.” He acknowledged after a moment, remembering Dean’s old flame from all those years ago, “I didn’t know her well. But I’d be willing to guess that she wouldn’t want you to be this. She wouldn’t want you to hurt people.  _ Innocent  _ people.”

“You are not innocent!” Ben screamed immediately, and Sam wasn’t sure whether he should be scared or glad that his words were getting to the younger man, “Your homewrecking,  _ douchebag _ of a brother isn’t innocent!”

“Our daughter is!” Sam argued back immediately, “And you put her in the crossfire!” 

Ben shook his head as he lowered his voice and told Sam solemnly, “I was just a kid too, when Dean showed up.” 

And then he burst once again, “I was innocent, too!”

Sam wasn’t sure how to refute that. It was all technically true, but Ben wasn’t seeing the bigger picture. Sam had to  _ make him _ see the bigger picture.

“Ben.” He stated calmly before elaborating, “Dean left so that he  _ wouldn’t  _ hurt you. He was a hunter. His life was all danger, and he thought that leaving you was the only way to keep you and Lisa out of the crossfire. It killed him to leave you two behind, but he did it to  _ protect _ you. And I’m so sorry that your mother passed away. Believe me, I know what that’s like. So does Dean. But it doesn’t give you a right to kill _ me _ and threaten  _ my _ family!” 

Ben didn’t respond at all like Sam hoped he would. Instead of understanding, there was  _ rage _ .

“You have no  _ idea _ what I went through!” He screamed as he took the butt of the knife and slammed it down on Sam’s temple, splitting his head open for the umpteenth time.

Sam practically whimpered at the horrific pain that spread through his skull. He had to blink a few times to clear the dizziness out of his head. His breathing was hitched and sporadic as he gasped for air. That hit was worse than the rest. It did something to him. Something bad. 

“Dean Winchester a  _ good man _ .” Ben scoffed as he walked away from Sam, wiping the blood off of the end of the knife with his tee shirt, “Please.” 

Sam couldn’t respond. He couldn’t even wrap his head around forming words. His head was full of thick fog. He let his lips part and mouth fall slack, eyes going half-lidded as his awareness faded. 

When Ben turned around to ask him another question, Sam didn’t even hear the second word out of his mouth before he was passing out. 

——————

Breathe in. Breathe out. 

Dean focused on the road, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and tapping his pointer finger against the steering wheel anxiously.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

His heart was beating so hard and fast he could hear it in his ears. It seared through his skull and made his chest ache. It had been three whole days since Sam and Grace had gone missing, and he was only now on track to rescue his brother. 

For three whole days Sam was in the hands of some psychopath. Being tortured. The mere thought was making Dean’s whole body tremble and his stomach twist.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Dean hated hide and seek as a kid. It was his least favorite game to play with Sam by a massive margin. He knew it was stupid. All the kids played it.

But for some reason… every time Sam went to hide and Dean had to search for his little brother, he felt a panic that was much too intense to be considered normal. He hated being away from Sam. He hated not knowing where he was. He hated the thought of anything bad happening to him. So maybe other kids were able to play the game normally. But Sam and Dean weren’t normal kids. 

Hide and seek was mild, however, compared to what was happening right now. Sam had gone missing and was in the hands of an evil man that wanted revenge on him for God knows what, and Dean was in no position to comfort him. His brother was kidnapped. Tortured. 

And he could do  _ nothing _ .

But… that didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered now was  _ finding _ Sam. He’d deal with everything else later. 

So, he focused on the steering wheel in front of him and his foot on the gas pedal. He swallowed around the lump in his throat as he sped down the route Grace had shown him.

The dirt road was long, and everytime he drove over a particularly large rock or deep puddle, he cursed under his breath and apologized to baby. 

All he could think about was what Grace said about Sam being hurt. About him being alone. 

It was so incredibly like his brother to make the sacrifice play. But that didn’t make it any easier of a pill for Dean to swallow. He couldn’t stop imagining his brother in horrible conditions. Bruised, bloodied. He just prayed that Grace was over exaggerating and that Sam was fine. 

Sam  _ had to be _ fine.

5 more minutes of tedious dirt road and then he was finally getting a change in scenery. He sighed in relief when he passed the fire station Grace had mentioned. 

He was getting close. 


	5. Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean finally finds Sam, but is it too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final two chapters soon! Thanks for reading :D

By the time Dean found the cabin in the middle of the woods, he was on the edge of falling completely into insanity.

Grace said it would take twenty minutes of rummaging through the woods to reach Sam, and Dean was counting on that. He was literally counting the seconds. 

But he didn’t find the cabin for forty two minutes. 

_ Forty two minutes! _

Twenty two extra minutes of tripping over tree branches and walking through puddles of mud and grime. Twenty two extra minutes of watching the sun get lower and lower in the sky. Twenty two extra minutes of thinking about Sam in pain and Grace’s worry and his own helplessness in all of it.

_Forty two_ _fucking minutes_. 

Granted, once he saw that little wooden hut appear between two patches of thick evergreens, none of that mattered. 

It all just faded away into  _ Sam, Sam, Sam… _

He took off sprinting towards the house, and only stopped a few feet away from the front door. Carefully and quietly, he did a complete lap around the cabin. Slowly, he walked around the house with his gun raised up high, eyes focusing on any and every little thing that could possibly be out of place. When he came up with nothing out of the ordinary, he went for the backdoor. Dean kept his gun raised high as he took the doorknob in his hand and slowly twisted it to the right. He slid it open as quietly as he could, which also meant as slowly as he could. It didn’t make a squeak and the older Winchester sighed in relief.

With slow and quiet footsteps, he walked through the entire house, checking for anything out of place. There were no blood stains, no signs of struggle, no scratches or symbols… it all looked completely innocent. 

But Dean knew better than that. His daughter wouldn’t lead him astray, either. Sam was here. He could feel it.

And when he saw an old wooden door with the white paint peeling off at nearly every corner, Dean knew he was right. He found what he was looking for.

Just like the backdoor, he eased the doorknob open silently and wedged himself through the entrance without making a sound. When he saw that the door led to a staircase, the relief flooded his body. This was it. He took a deep breath and started making his way down. 

And that would have gone perfectly if Dean didn’t have Winchester luck, because Winchester luck was no luck at all. 

The very first stair creaked under his feet. 

Dean cursed under his breath and closed his eyes in disappointment. Any chance of sneaking up on the guy just completely went up in smoke.

“Dean.” The man’s voice called loudly and Dean cursed internally at both the man’s immediate recognition and his own mistake, “Glad you could join us.”

He sighed and then, realizing it was futile to continue trying to be quiet, stomped down the rest of the stairs to approach the man -going for speed instead. He held his gun up high, but felt himself stutter when his eyes landed on the scene before him. The fact that there was a man holding a knife to Sam’s throat wasn’t even the scariest thing.

His brother didn’t look even remotely like himself. He was so beaten and burned all over that he was borderline unrecognizable. So pale he appeared ghostly. There was blood coating the floor and several towels soaked in the liquid in the corner. All the urgency in Dean’s body melted into despair. Sam’s head was lulling how, chin tucked into his chest and hair blocking his face. 

“What did you do to him?” Dean asked in horror as he approached. His eyes trailed over Sam’s body and his head started throbbing. 

But his attention was diverted when the man turned around to look at him and holy mother of… 

“Ben?!” Dean’s eyes widened in shock.

The man turned around with a big grin on his face as he greeted overdramatically, “Oh, hey Dean!” 

Dean felt his stomach drop. It was  _ Ben _ . Lisa’s Ben. How in the…  _ what?! _

“What…” He started, knitting his eyebrows in confusion as he looked the younger man up and down.

Never in a million fucking  _ years _ would Dean have guessed Ben was behind this. The kid that he helped with his science fair project. The kid that cried on his shoulder when he got a D in math class. The kid that bought him a little model impala for father’s day and sung to him with a giant smile on his birthday. 

And nevermind all that… this couldn’t be Ben because he had his memories wiped. It didn’t make any sense… 

“Yes, It’s really me.” Ben taunted him, stalking forward a bit but keeping the sharp end of the knife pointed at Sam, “Yes, you had my memories wiped. And  _ yes _ … I got them back.”

“I don’t understand.” Dean shook his head back and forth, nothing making sense. 

He tried to come up with some sort of logical explanation in his head but just kept coming up empty. Ben wasn’t a bad person. No… Dean never even saw a  _ hint _ of bad potential in the kid. He was an honors student. A stand-up dude even at nine years old. Dean and him, they… they loved each other. Dean was practically a father to him. This… this didn’t make any sense.

“I’ve got to say, I’ve been waiting a long,  _ long _ time for this.” Ben spoke suddenly, his eyes following Dean’s every move but body still facing Sam. 

He was standing in front of Sam just right so that he blocked Dean’s view of his brother. All he could see were his bloodied jeans and shoes. 

He swallowed thickly, “Ben, what is this about? Where is Lisa?” 

The young man jutted his jaw out and moved his lips in a way that Dean could tell he was clenching his teeth. His whole body tensed and he looked away briefly before bringing his gaze back up to Dean’s face.

“My mother is dead.” He bit out, and Dean felt a weight settle in the pit of his stomach.

It’d been a long time since he last thought about Lisa and Ben. He was happy with Sammy, and knew that he was the only one for him. Truly. Lisa was great for a little while, but she was never going to be  _ the one _ . There was only one of those and his initials were SW. 

But he still cared about her. About  _ them _ .

Lisa helped him through one of the hardest times in his life. She sat with him and listened to him beg and cry as he grieved for the loss of his best friend, brother, and later, soulmate. She meant a lot to him. That’s why he had to let her go.

“I didn’t… I didn’t know.” Dean sighed earnestly, feeling the tears sting in his eyes as he thought about Lisa, “Ben, I’m so sorry.” 

Ben laughed humorlessly. It was more of a scoff.

“Yeah, I bet you are. But sorry doesn’t bring her back.” Ben barked. There was a fire in his eyes that made Dean on edge, “And you deserve to  _ pay  _ for what you did!”

Dean furrowed his eyebrows and took a step forward. His heart was thundering in his chest. Sam was only yards away, but Ben stood dead center in front of him. Dean wouldn’t be able to make a move in the position he’s in right now.

“What did I do?” He questioned hesitantly, fearing another attack but too desperate to not ask. 

Ben narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw.

“Two years after you left, a man showed up in the middle of the night and killed my mother in cold blood. I held her in my  _ hands _ as he died.” He swallowed, seething at the mouth as he continued, “You knew what was out there! You knew you put us at risk, and you left anyway! You left us  _ alone _ when you knew the risks! And now my mother is  _ dead _ ! Because of you!”

Ben was red in the face. The anger was coming off of him in thick waves that transversed through the air and hit Dean in crests of guilt. Every word made his chest hurt.

“And now?” Ben tilted his head a bit as he raised his brows and pulled his lips up tight, visibly shifting his anger to vengeance, “Now I’m going to kill the person  _ you  _ love. So you know how I felt! How I  _ feel _ !”

The way his voice raised made chills go up Dean’s arms. He stuttered a bit, but kept a defensive stance. He still couldn’t get a good look at Sam, but the fact that his brother had yet to speak was sending alarm bells off in his head. Sam was normally the one headlining therapy sessions like this. He was so incredibly smart and thoughtful in this particular arena. He was the poster boy for talking someone out of something. Making them feel better. Making them  _ understand _ .

But it was patent that his brother wasn’t going to step up anytime soon. Dean tried to put the worry that realization caused on the back burner. Whatever state Sam was in now… it was better than dead. 

“Ben, please, listen to me.” Dean begged, stepping forward slowly with his hands in the air in surrender, “I am so sorry about your mom. I can’t even begin to say… but… Sam has nothing to do with any of it.” 

Ben glared at him and clenched his jaw, bringing the knife even closer to Sam’s throat so that the blade just barely scraped his throat.

“My mom and I didn’t have anything to do with it, either. You did!” He yelled, seething.

Dean felt his heartbeat skyrocket.

“Wait, wait, wait!” He yelled, terrified that Ben would make a move, “Please!”

Ben hissed, “What?”

Dean continued to get closer, slowly but steadily, bouncing his gaze between Sam and Ben.

“I loved you, Ben.” He spoke earnestly, “I loved both of you. I loved Lisa. I erased your memories so that I couldn’t hurt you anymore! I wanted you both to be happy. Do you know how badly it hurt for me to see your faces and have you not recognize me? After everything? The pain…” 

“Really?” Ben cut him off, anger rolling off of him, “You’re trying to get sympathy? That’s how you want to play this?!” 

Dean shook his head, swallowing.

“No. No, Ben.” He spoke carefully, slowly to remain completely articulate, “I never should have involved you in my life. I never should have come to Lisa when I knew there were risks. That’s all on me. I messed up. And if you want to blame me for her death, then that’s okay. Hell, I deserve it.” 

Ben eyed him up and down.

“But I want you to look at me, Look at him,” Dean pointed to Sam and felt his chest tighten at the sight of his beaten and battered little brother, “And think about what you are about to do, and how you will feel once it’s done.”

Dean continued stalking towards him as he elaborated, “You will have killed a man in cold blood. You will have left an eleven year old girl without a father. You will have a murder and prison for the rest of your life, on your hands. And even after all of that… Lisa will  _ still _ be dead. You’re mother will not come back because you killed some innocent man who happens to mean a whole fucking lot to me. And she will look down at you from heaven and be  _ ashamed  _ of what you did. And when you die, because you will no matter how long it takes, she will be waiting for you and she’ll be so disappointed. Or worse, you’ll end up in hell for this. I’ve been to hell, Ben. It is not the place you want to be.”

Ben twitched a bit and his jaw clenched again. Dean could tell he was getting through to him.

“Ben, if what I had with you, with your mother, means  _ anything _ to you… you will put that knife down. Don’t be a stain on her memory. Be  _ better _ . Be  _ good _ .”

He didn’t even let Ben respond. While he was talking, Dean had managed to get close enough that mid-sentence, he just brought the butt of his gun down to Ben’s temple and the kid was out like a light. He ignored Sam for the moment and dragged the limp body up the stairs and over to a thick tree. He wanted him  _ away _ from Sam. He didn’t want him anywhere close when he came to, and he wanted the cops to have easy access to the man that tortured his brother. So, he carefully tied his arms around the trunk of a thick evergreen and left him there. He couldn’t take any risks that Ben would still be out for Sammy.

Sammy…

Dean turned around quickly and ran back into the house. He flew down the stairs and hesitantly eyed his brother. He hadn’t realized until then that Sam hadn’t  _ moved _ . He hadn’t spoken. He hadn’t so much as looked at Dean.

And suddenly the fear coursing through Dean’s body was electric. He could feel it pumping through his veins like a chemical, waiting to react. It made his heart beat at inhuman speeds, the throbbing of the organ thunderingly loud in his own head. 

But one of the most valuable lessons that John Winchester ever taught his sons was to not let fear paralyze them. 

Sometimes the emotion was so strong and overpowering that it was nearly impossible to budge. It was a defense mechanism of some sort. Protect yourself by not confronting the thing causing fright. But fear wasn’t a bad thing in their job. It was as common as any other emotion, the way they lived. If they let it paralyze them, they wouldn’t be able to get anything done. Ever. No… they had to  _ use _ it. Use the adrenaline it caused. Use the motivation. 

So with a thick swallow, Dean started to move his feet. He slowly put one foot in front of the other, arms by his sides and eyes trained on his brother. His breathing was loud and uneven, heart still pulsing loud in his ears. The anticipation and fear were fighting for dominance as he finally approached Sam. 

The breath caught in his throat when he was close enough to truly see his brother’s face. His entire body actually did freeze in place when he got within two feet. Screw using fear. Right now, all he could do was let it take over him. Because Sam… his Sammy… God, he’d never seen him look this bad. He knew the moment he laid eyes on him that something was seriously wrong. Beyond their capabilities. Immediately, he reached for his phone and dialed 911. They needed help.  _ Sam  _ needed help.

“911, how can we help you?” The dispatcher answered on the second ring and Dean could barely think.

“My brother.” He sputtered out and the sound of his own choked up voice was foreign and strange to his own ears, “We need an ambulance.” 

Dean swallowed down the fear and brought a shaky hand up to Sam’s jaw, careful to avoid any open wounds. He leveraged his head up in an attempt to catch his gaze.

“Sir, can you give us a location?”

But Dean couldn’t answer because suddenly Sam was groaning and Dean was so shocked, he dropped his phone to the ground and the glass shattered. He didn’t even have the mind to care. 

“Sam?” He asked, his voice so broken and hitched he didn’t recognize it. 

There was no response, and Dean’s stomach twisted. 

He was holding Sam’s head up with his hand and pointing his face at him, but still, Sam wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were open, but they were pointed down at the ground, lids half closed over his irises. His lips were parted and his jaw was slack, blood seeping out of the corner of his mouth. There was a nasty burn on the side of his face which looked like it was in severe risk of an infection and several other deep cuts littered around his head. There was a massive, bruised and torn, bump over his eyebrow on the right side. There were tear stains down his too-pale cheeks and bruises by his neck. 

“Sammy, can you look at me?” Dean whispered, not wanting to ask because he feared the answer. He waited a moment, but Sam’s eyes stayed locked on the concrete below.

He was starting to get very,  _ very  _ fearful that there might be some brain damage here. The amount of trauma to his head, the way his eyes weren’t responsive, his muteness… none of them were good signs.

“Please, baby.” Dean pleaded, a single tear falling from his eye and painting a shiny line down his cheek. 

There was still no sign that Sam was even hearing him. Dean felt his heart clench. It was like a heavy stone in his chest, pulling all his energy towards it like a gravitational force. His throat was tight and throbbing as he desperately tried to keep the sobs at bay. Him breaking down wasn’t what Sam needed right now. 

So, he took a deep breath and blinked a few times to banish the tears before reaching forward to grasp the handcuffs that were restraining his brother’s arms. 

“Okay,” He breathed out, not sure whether he was talking to comfort Sam or keep himself grounded. Probably both. He continued with a choked up, yet firm tone, “Okay, it’s okay, Sammy. I’m gonna get you down.”

His hands were shaking so harshly that it took him much longer than it normally would to get the handcuffs undone. When the first metal ring was opened, Sam’s arm immediately swung down and his hand hit Dean on the knee ever so lightly. At first, Dean looked up with wide, expectant eyes, thinking Sam had controlled the motion. But when he caught a glimpse of Sam’s face and saw the same dead, unaffected expression as before, he realized with a dread-filled heart that it was nothing but the force of gravity. He breathed out to extinguish the disappointment and went about undoing the second cuff. Again, Sam’s arm swung down until both limbs were hanging by his sides. Dean had to rush up and grab Sam’s shoulders to keep him from falling to the ground face-first. His biceps burned as he held up his brother’s massive weight and he slowly but steadily lowered him to the ground so he was laying on his back. He was incredibly careful with his head, knowing he couldn’t hit it again.

“Almost done, Sammy.” He gave his brother a tight smile, though he knew he couldn’t see it. Sam’s eyes were still gazing to the side, no longer pointed at the ground, but rather one of the four gray walls.

Dean continued to count his breaths and ignore his loud pulse as he undid the cuffs around Sam’s ankles. Once his brother was free, half of Dean expected him to sit up and be ready to move. But that was just a delusional and desperate ray of hope. And in Dean’s experience, hope only bred misery. 

Sam stayed laying on the ground, completely paralyzed. Dean crawled up so his face was level with Sam’s and he whimpered with a quivering lower lip, “Sammy?”

Nothing. 

“Cas?!” He yelled out loud next, his voice breaking halfway through. 

He knew it was a longshot -Cas had been in heaven for a few years now, only stopping by every few months or so to check in- but he was desperate. He waited a dreadful thirty seconds, but nothing happened. Nobody came. 

He let out a cry that he choked down halfway through. He blinked away the tears and slowly reached for Sam’s hand. He laid his own hand inside Sam’s palm and interlocked their fingers. With his opposite hand, he pushed down Sam’s fingers so that they curled around his own. He looked up at Sam’s non emotive face and choked.

“Sammy, baby, show me that you hear me.” He pleaded, tears streaming down his face, “Squeeze my hand.”

He waited with nothing but the sound of his own heart pumping in his ears for a few seconds before he begged on a sob, “ _ Please _ .”

A few more seconds passed and there was suddenly the sound of sirens somewhere far in the distance. Dean was at least thankful for that, but his focus was nowhere even near the ambulance. He started letting out little cries that were mounting with every moment that passed by.

“Just squeeze my hand, Sammy.” He begged again, leaning his head down as the tears dripped from his own face and landed on Sam’s skin below him, “Please, just, ple-”

Dean was cut off by the feeling he was begging for. It was so faint that if he hadn’t been hyperfocused on his hand, he wouldn’t have noticed it. But it was there. Sam had squeezed his hand. Well, squeeze was a strong word… it was more of a twitch than anything, but still… it meant Sam was hearing him. Dean let out a full blown sob of relief. 

Immediately, he grabbed their intertwined hands and shakily brought them up to his face. He pressed a wet kiss to the top of Sam’s hand, tears leaking onto both of their fingers. 

“Thank you, Sammy.” He cried, pressing a few more rapid, fluttering kisses all over the back of his hand, “I love you so much. I’m never going to leave you, I promise.”

Now that he knew Sam could hear him, he felt a little bit more free in speaking. Even though his voice was thick with tears and his entire body was tense with fear.

“You’re going to be okay, you always are. I’ll make sure of it.” He told his brother sincerely as the sound of sirens got louder and louder with each passing second, “You did so amazing. Grace is safe because of you, Sammy. You saved her.” 

He wanted nothing more than for Sam to look at him. Squeeze his hand again. Say  _ anything _ .

But he couldn’t have any of that. 

Sam’s eyes still looked so lost, staring off at nothing and pupils dilated beyond normality. There was a trail of blood diluted with drool dribbling out of the corner of his mouth, and his skin was pale as snow. He looked like a corpse.

Dean refused to look down at the shitshow that was his torso. There were so many burns and cuts that just looking for a second made him nauseous. He didn’t even want to know how much blood his brother lost. He knew it was bad, though. Really bad. 

The head trauma was by far the scariest thing, though. He’s watched Sam die before. He’s seen him bruised, bloody, and broken to the bone. But he’s  _ never  _ seen him like this. So lost, so empty. He’s never looked into his brother’s eyes and seen  _ nothing  _ staring back. It was downright terrifying. 

The trepidation was building like a tsunami inside of him. 

There wasn’t even a hint of the man he loved staring back at him right now. Not even a trace of the man that raised their daughter. The man who held the most compassion, knowledge, and kindness of anyone Dean’s ever met. 

The man who jumped into the cage to save the world, and who willingly put himself in the line of fire day in and day out for the greater good and the people he loved. The man who Dean would die for without a second’s hesitation. The man who Grace looked up to like he hung the moon and stars. 

That Sam wasn’t in front of him right now. 

The person in front of him was a shell. He was frail and bloodied and calloused. He was distant, secluded, and isolated from Dean’s presence. Empty in the eyes and soul. Borderline unrecognizable. 

Dean was trying so hard to let that simple hand squeeze keep him grounded and hopeful, but no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that it was enough, it just wasn’t. It was never going to be enough. Maybe it was greedy to want more, but that’s just human nature, isn’t it? Once people get what they want, they want  _ more _ . And Dean wanted  _ more _ .

He wanted Sam to look at him. To tell him that he was okay. To hold him. Cradle him. Kiss him.

He wanted it  _ all. _

But all he had was his husband and brother, stretched out on the concrete floor in front of him, not even acknowledging that he was present. If Dean wasn’t clutching Sam’s hand as tight as he was, it would fall right out of his grasp. He didn’t think Sam had any control over his body right now. 

He was trying with everything in him to stay strong. To stay present. To remind himself that his Sam was still there, even it was deep down. The man he loved was  _ still here _ . Dean had to hold onto that. He  _ had  _ to.

“Alright, Sammy.” He whispered as he kissed the top of Sam’s hand again, still trying to keep it front and center in his mind that Sam was in danger, and he needed to be there for him. No matter how foreign and freaky it all was. It was still his Sam. He sighed, “I’m right here.”

He stretched out his legs and just as he heard the sirens come to a halt, Dean pulled Sam’s upper body into his lap and cradled his head with his hands. He choked down a cry and instead started humming softly as he looked at the wall instead of his brother. He couldn’t look into his eyes anymore. He couldn’t stomach seeing the absence in his irises. 

He closed his eyes and started counting his breaths in intervals of ten in an effort to calm himself down. He absentmindedly stroked Sam’s hair with his fingers, and had to stop himself from jumping too high or abruptly with surprise when the door was suddenly being knocked down. 

He jerked his head around fast and saw a group of four medics come sprinting down the stairs. He watched as they locked their gazes on Sam and started rushing towards him. 

“Bring the backboard.” One of them spoke urgently into a walkie talkie attached to their chest. 

“Male, early to mid thirties. Several lacerations and burns on the torso and face.” Another spoke just as fast.

Dean only backed away a little bit when they all swarmed around him. He watched with crazed eyes and hands splayed all over Sam’s body, gloves moving all over his skin and completely ignoring Dean’s presence. Not five seconds later, two more men were racing in holding a backboard. They raced down the stairs before jogging up to Sam and coming down to their knees. 

One of the medics, a forty-something year old woman with light brown hair that was graying near the roots, leaned over Sam’s head and shined a light in his eyes. 

“Follow my light, sir.” She instructed as she swayed it across his field of vision. Dean tensed up as Sam’s eyes stayed exactly where they were. He had predicted it, but it was still just… gut wrenching.

“Okay, we have signs of head trauma.” She announced both to the other medics around her and into the walkie talkie. She then leaned closer to Sam and asked firmly, “Sir, can you hear me?” 

Sam didn’t budge. He gasped a little bit on a breath, but he’d been doing that every few minutes or so. His breathing was hitched and erratic. 

Dean swallowed and answered quietly on Sam’s part, “He squeezed my hand a few minutes ago, but other than that, he’s been unresponsive.”

The paramedic just nodded and then she was looking at all the other medics surrounding Sam’s limp body.

“Okay, on three we’re going to transfer him onto the stretcher.” She called, and immediately the others got in position. One at his ankles, two at his shoulders, and another two at each end of the board. 

“One, two, three.” She called and then Sam’s body was being lifted off of the ground and onto the backboard. Dean immediately felt naked without his brother lying across his lap. The missing weight left a hole in his chest. 

“Support his head!” The same woman commanded the medic that was at the top of the backboard. She was clearly the one calling the shots, Dean noted. 

The paramedic she yelled at was now strapping Sam’s head to the backboard with a big block of foam on either side of his head, keeping it immobile. There were straps being secured around his ankles and a bunch of static and people speaking into devices. It was all merging together in Dean’s head into white noise. The only thing he could see through the haze was Sam. His brother, who was unresponsive, limp, and bleeding. His brother, who he admired, loved, and… 

His brother. Who he couldn’t live without.

Dean’s entire body was a fucking mess. His heart was racing. His eyes were watery. His palms were sweating. 

There was a paramedic yelling at him, asking him questions, but he couldn’t find it in him to answer. Maybe Sam’s unresponsiveness was rubbing off on him. They were basically fucking soulmates, anyway. It wouldn’t be the craziest thing in the world.

All he could do was watch patiently -helplessly- as the paramedics slowly but surely lifted the backboard off the ground and started moving together to get it and Sam up the stairs. Dean immediately went to follow, but there was suddenly a large, firm hand on his chest holding him back. He looked up with a death glare to whoever was keeping from his brother.

Standing in front of him was an asian man with long black hair. He was a very large dude, defined muscles and chiseled jaw. Dean jutted his out when they made eye contact.

“You better get out of my way if you value that hand, buddy.” Dean growled, staring over the man’s shoulder as the other paramedics moved up the stairs.

“I can’t do that, sir.” The man announced calmly and Dean only then realized that the man holding him back was a cop. The navy uniform stood out against the gray walls that surrounded them. The officer continued, “You’re a suspect.”

Dean’s eyes burst out of his head. He jerked his entire head forward and couldn’t help but yell, “What?!”

The officer didn’t seem phased in the least. He tilted his head and announced, “You’re the only one here and there is a man that has clearly been tortured. Can you tell me why you wouldn’t be a suspect in this case?”

“No, no, no, you’ve got it all fucking wrong!” Dean yelled as he pulled his hands up to his head, tears streaming down his face as the frustration boiled over. Every moment he was here was another moment closer to missing the ride in the ambulance with Sam, “He’s my brother! He was kidnapped a few days ago, I found him like this! The man that’s responsible is outside tied to a tree. I left him there! Please,  _ please _ don’t separate me from him, he could…” He stopped to keep himself from breaking down. 

The cop narrowed his brows before reaching for the walkie talkie attached to his belt and asking someone over the line, “Hey, Brian, is there a man tied to a tree out there? I got someone here claiming that he restrained the suspect.”

There was a brief pause and Dean was  _ dying. _ The only thing worse than seeing Sam in pain was not seeing him at all. Knowing he was suffering and that he was all alone. Dean didn’t think he’d be able to breathe properly again until he could see Sam.

_ “I’ve got you, Teddy, there is a man out here. He’s unconscious, but tied to a tree just like you said. Cuffing him now.”  _ Was the muffled response that eventually came from the other end of the walkie talkie and Dean breathed a sigh of relief that flowed through his entire body.

The cop eyed him and nodded subtly. 

“Okay. But I am going to need a phone number and an address to reach you by. You can fill out the paperwork in the back of the ambulance. Which I will walk you to.” The cop told him firmly. Dean almost admired his professionalism.

He just nodded and then he was running up the stairs, the cop -Teddy- hot on his heels. 

He ran up to the back of the ambulance and briefly conversed with the head paramedic before hopping in beside Sam with strict instructions to ‘Stay out of the way.’

The drive went by incredibly fast. Dean was so focused on watching the paramedics’ every move that he missed every stop sign and traffic light. He didn’t hear anything but the sirens going off above him and the sound of his own heart beating. The medics were all conversing with each other, but Dean tuned it out. His eyes were trained on his brother, whose eyes were now closed. He didn’t know if that was a disappointment or a relief.

By the time they pulled into the hospital, Dean was so worried and fragile that he could barely move. He followed the group through the ER doors like a dog on a leash, eyes down and palms sweating. 

In a matter of seconds, he was being held back as Sam was pushed through a set of heavy steel doors.

“Sir, you cannot go in there!” Someone was yelling at him, but his head was all fuzz. He pushed them off and kept walking.

“Sir! That’s restricted!” Another one yelled as they grabbed his arm and pulled him back. 

“My brother…” He whispered, looking at the man holding him back desperately.

“We’ll do all we can.” The paramedic told him with sincere eyes, “But you need to stay here.” 

Dean fell back into a fold-up waiting room chair with a thud and dropped his head into his hands. 

The last thing he thought before the paramedics were leaving him to follow Sam through the door was  _ Where the hell are you, Cas? _


	6. Diagnosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean sits in the emergency room waiting room and finds out Sam’s diagnosis.

“She’s losing her mind. I think she’s old enough to be there.”

Dean sighed and lowered his head into his open palm as he listened to Jody. He was gripping the phone so tight it was on the verge of shattering and splintering glass into his hand. It had been five hours since Sam had been rushed into the emergency room and Dean’s heard nothing. He was starting to go crazy. His thoughts were all over the map and very few of them had good connotations. All he could think about was how Sam looked right before the paramedics took him away. How helpless he was to do anything. And now Jody was telling him that Grace was going just as insane as Dean was about the whole thing. His daughter was pacing up and down the motel room and refused to settle down. Jody said that she was worried for her wellbeing, and that no matter how awful Sam was feeling or how terrible he looked, it would be good for her to see him. Or at the very least, see Dean. 

“And honestly?” She continued, voice a little hesitant but very much sincere, “I think you need her there, too.”

Dean closed his eyes and leaned further into his hand. He clenched his jaw a bit as he thought over the statement. 

Yes, he would be better with Grace beside him. Yes, he would feel better if he had the other person he loved most tucked into his side so he could focus on what he still had and not on what he might lose. And  _ yes _ , he would feel better if he could just see his daughter’s beautiful face. All of that was simple. 

But… if Sam was in the kind of condition Dean feared he might be after all of this… it might do more harm than good for Grace to see him. Dean was as much of an optimist as he could be when it came to Sam. He would fight to the end for Sam’s life. Always. But… until he could figure out how exactly he was going to do that, he didn’t want his daughter to see her father on his deathbed. And Sam wouldn’t want her to either.

“I don’t know, Jody.” He sighed honestly, rubbing his fist over his eyes, “Sam wasn’t in good shape before he got taken in. I don’t want her to see him like that.” 

There was a short pause followed by a shaky breath, and then Jody was answering.

“Dean, kids are stronger than you think. Especially  _ your _ kid. And if you don’t want her to see Sam, I understand that, but she needs to see  _ you _ . You don’t have to let her into the actual hospital room. I’ll tag along- stay with her.” 

And yeah, okay, that didn’t sound so bad.

“Are you sure, Jody?” He asked, feeling guilty for making her do so much, “I know this is a lot to ask.”

Immediately, she shut him down with a scoff, “You didn’t ask, I offered. How many times have you and your brother been there for me? This is the least I can do.” 

That actually got a little smirk from Dean. As he stared down at the white tiles below his feet, he replied quietly, “I appreciate it, Jody. Thank you.” 

“You just look out for your brother. I’ll be there with Grace in twenty minutes. Take care, Dean.”

“You got it.”

He lowered the phone and checked the time quickly before tucking it into his back pocket. It was just after 1:00am in the morning. He hadn’t even thought to ask Jody why the hell Grace was up at that time. Regardless… 

He passed the minutes by counting the lines and squares on the floor and studying the other people in the waiting room. Sam would condemn him for staring, but that thought kind of made him want to do it more. It made him feel closer to his brother.

There was a woman across from him, in the seat two feet away from the exit. She looked to be in her late sixties or early seventies. Long gray hair was tucked behind her ears and her gaze was concentrated on a large book that was opened on top of her lap. She had fabric pants on with wide bottoms and swirly, red and orange patterns all over the material. Her finger was skimming the sentences of the page, guiding her eyes. Dean watched her lips move quietly as she mouthed the words she was reading. 

He became bored fairly quickly and slid his gaze to the man that was four seats to the right of the book lady. He was more interesting.

Dark hair in a crew cut. Thick eyebrows. Stubble around his jaw and down his neck. He was wearing a gray tee shirt that was a bit stretched at the neck and faded blue jeans. His face was in his hands and his left leg was bouncing rapidly up and down on the floor. Dean smirked a little to himself. He was probably not looking much better than him. 

He looked up to the clock and saw that eleven minutes had passed since he last checked the time. With a huff, he stood up from his seat and walked over to the water dispenser. He took a little paper cup and filled it up before downing it in a matter of seconds. He was about to turn back when he looked over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of the man again. Dean sighed and reached for a second cup. He filled it just below the brim and walked it over slowly.

“Hey,” He greeted quietly and the man looked up, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Dean only noticed now how red his eyes were. 

He swallowed before handing the man the cup and announcing, “You looked like you could use it.”

The man nodded subtly as he took the cup from Dean’s hand and brought it to his lips. He took a small sip before lowering it and looking back up at Dean.

“That’s very kind of you.” He acknowledged quietly, “My name is Thomas.”

He extended a hand and Dean took it instinctively. He shook it firmly before backing up a little and introducing himself, “Dean.”

“Well, Dean, you don’t look so great yourself.” Thomas regarded, and it wasn’t ill-intended or malicious, it was earnest. They were sharing this moment.

Dean tilted his head and agreed, “I doubt people end up in this place feeling good.” 

Thomas laughed a little and looked down at his lap before reiterating, “Very true.” 

There was a pause and Dean was about to walk away when suddenly Thomas was speaking up again.

“Why?” 

Dean knit his brows and turned around.

“Why, what?”

Thomas shrugged as he urged, “Why are you here?” 

Dean looked down at the ground. It was times like this when he wished he could tell people the damn truth. He weighed his options in his head before sighing.

“If you don’t want to…” Thomas started, but Dean cut him off.

“No, no. It’s okay.” He reassured as he walked forward and took a seat next to the brunette.

“My uh… my husband hit his head pretty bad. Lost a lot of blood. Could be looking at brain damage.” He got a bit choked up and had to look away to collect himself before turning back to Thomas, “But he’s pulled through worse. What about you, man?” 

“That’s awful, I’m so sorry.” Thomas acknowledged and Dean felt his heart clench. Somehow telling some total stranger about Sam made it feel real. He listened patiently as Thomas started speaking about his own situation.

“My little sister was staying at my apartment for the weekend. She’s moving into Clarkson College on Monday and wanted to spend some time with me before she went.” His voice was becoming thick with tears and Dean bit his lip as he listened, “I woke up to the sound of her coughing. I don’t know what happened. One minute she was fine, and then the next…” 

Dean let out a long, audible breath and reached out to put a hand on the guy’s shoulder. 

“I know the feeling.” He told him with a little sympathetic grimace, “Sometimes shit just happens, no explanation.” 

Thomas raised his brows a bit and nodded, his gaze still downcast. 

“Hey, thanks for coming over, man.” He said after a moment, raising his gaze to meet Dean’s eyes, “Kindness like that is few and far between, nowadays.” 

Dean smiled a little bit to himself, knowing exactly why he did what he did: Because it’s what Sam would’ve done. 

And he had no idea why he was confiding in this unknown guy in a random emergency room in the middle of bumfuck Nebraska, but…

“Yeah, well, you know that husband I told you about?” He raised a brow and Thomas nodded in confirmation, “It’s what he woulda done. He was - _ is _ \- that kind of thoughtful-to-everybody type of guy. Kinda annoying sometimes, actually.” Dean laughed a little bit.

Thomas smirked a bit and laughed as well. He took a little glance around the waiting room before returning his gaze to Dean. 

“Sounds like a great guy.” He acknowledged with a genuine smile.

Dean smiled at first, but he quickly found it falling from his face. His lips melted into a frown and his eyes cast downwards. He bit his lip a little bit before breathing out, fighting the tears burning in his eyes.

“Yeah.” He whispered, “Yeah, he is.” 

Thomas pushed his lips over to one side of his face and then brought a hand up to touch Dean’s shoulder once.

“My sister is the same way.” He shifted the subject a bit to relieve some of the tension, “She’s a hospice care nurse, can you imagine? Watching people die so much, you’d think it would weigh on a person, but… she stays so positive.” 

Dean kept his true reaction hidden. He ignored how close that statement hit to home and just breathed out.

“Can’t imagine.” He lied before swallowing down the kump in his throat and shifting the subject, “Well I bet Sam would get along great with her.” 

Thomas laughed a little and brought the cup to his lips. He finished the water and crushed the little paper cup in his fist before tilting his head and elaborating, “Yeah, I bet they would. Sam is a nice name. Very classic. My sister’s name is Grace.” 

Dean let out an audible laugh and shook his head for a moment in disbelief. 

“What?” Thomas squinted his eyes a little bit, a lazy, yet curious smile on his face.

“Grace is my daughter’s name.” He raised a brow at Thomas, assuming he’d see the humor and coincidence involved.

“Oh, wow.” Thomas laughed a bit before nudging Dean with his elbow and smirking, “Great taste.” 

Dean tilted his head a bit as he smiled just barely, “Yeah, I guess so.” 

A silent pause followed that sentiment that drew on for a solid minute or so. The conversation died out and Dean could literally  _ feel  _ the reality seeping back in. It was like a vinaigrette filter, closing in from the corners until it was all encompassing.

Sam. Hospital. Blood. Brain damage. Grace. Jody.  _ Shit _ .

He could see the same heavy realizations settling over Thomas, and figured it was better not to keep forcing small talk. So, Dean just sighed, closed his eyes, and leaned back into the chair. He tilted his head back and swallowed slowly. 

Another handful of minutes passed before Dean heard the sound of a door opening an he opened his eyes. He jerked his head around to eye the entrance and took in a deep breath when he saw Jody walking in with her hand on Grace’s shoulder. His little girl had red, puffy eyes and hair in thick, blonde braids. Dean felt the tears choke him up and he took a long breath to calm himself down. 

Dean could tell the second Grace’s eyes landed on him because she froze for a millisecond before sprinting forward. Dean barely had time to get out of the chair and drop to his knees by the time she was slamming into him. He squinted his eyes closed tight and buried his face in the crook of her shoulder while she did the same on the opposite side. He brought a hand up to the back of her head and weaved his fingers in her hair. He was messing up her braids but neither of them could care less. He gripped her hair tight to keep himself grounded to her presence. Dean felt her arms wrap tightly around his back and he tilted his head to kiss her cheek. 

He could both hear and feel it when she started crying. Her body started shaking in his embrace and the sniffles tumbling out of her nose were loud because his face was so close to hers. He took several deep breaths to keep himself together. He couldn’t cry in front of Grace. No matter how badly his body wanted to. 

“I missed you.” She sobbed into his shoulder and yeah… Dean had to take a good couple of seconds before he could reply.

“I missed you too, baby girl.” He replied, voice strained and laced with emotions. 

“What’s happening with dad? Is he okay?” She asked next and Dean felt his whole body tense. His heart was like a heavy stone in his chest, pulling all of his focus.

“I don’t know much yet, Gracie.” He answered honestly, knowing his girl was far too smart to believe any lie he made up. 

She pulled away from Dean a little bit so she could meet his gaze and the older Winchester felt his heart break at the sight of her quivering lip and watering eyes.

“How are you, sweetie?” He asked, trying his best to smile genuinely despite the sorrow eating away at his insides. 

Dean slid a hand up to her face and swiped his thumb over her left cheek as she composed herself enough to speak.

“I’m worried about dad.” She answered, eyes and voice both full of tears.

Dean breathed out and immediately pulled her back into a hug. This time, he didn’t bury himself into her as much. He actually lifted his head so he could make eye contact with Jody, who was watching the pair with tears in her own eyes and arms crossed over her chest. They didn’t say anything because nothing needed to be said. They both knew everything the other wanted them to. 

So Dean just sighed and told Grace quietly as he stroked her back, “I know you are. I am too. But I want you to think real hard for a second, okay?” 

Grace nodded and prompted, “About what?”

“Dad.” Dean said easily before elaborating, “Think about how many times he’s been in trouble. How many times has he not been okay in the end?” 

Grace swallowed audibly and Dean could tell she was thinking. It didn’t take much to figure it out, though. Within a few seconds, she was answering.

“Never.”

Dean smirked a bit as he leveled with her, “Exactly.” 

Grace shook her head and pushed back a little bit. She looked Dean in the eyes and pushed, “He’s never been through  _ this _ , though, papa. I was there with him for some of it. It didn’t look good.” 

Dean had to close his eyes for a moment. God, Grace didn’t even know the full extent of it. She was only aware of the bare minimum. How was he supposed to break that to her? 

Well, the answer was simple; he wouldn’t tell her.

Eventually he stood up and reached for Grace’s hand. She took it gently.

“Why don’t we walk over here, huh?” He prompted, looking at Jody too. 

Both girls nodded and then Dean was leading them to a less crowded section of the waiting room so they could all sit down. He gave a little nod to Thomas who returned the gesture. 

Grace sat in the chair next to him and leaned down onto his shoulder. Dean immediately threw an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in close. It was like he could breathe better with just that contact. 

Jody sat on Dean’s other side and gently placed a hand on his knee. He turned to look at her when he felt the pressure and saw so much in her eyes.

_ I’m sorry. I’m here for you, It’ll all be okay. _

“How are you, Dean?” She asked quietly, and just as Dean’s jaw dropped to start speaking, she interrupted in her best mom-voice, “The truth, mister.” 

Dean sighed before swallowing down the lies he was about to tell and admitting, “Been better.” 

Jody nodded and swiped her thumb over his knee in comfort, “He’ll be okay. Sam Winchester is one of the biggest bad asses I know.” 

Dean let a huff of air out through his nose and tilted his head a little. He smirked just the tiniest bit as he agreed, “Damn right, he is.” 

Jody nudged him a little with her arm. Dean was still stroking Grace’s bicep absentmindedly as she silently cried into his chest. 

“What did the doctors say?” Jody asked quietly.

Dean shifted a bit in his seat.

“The paramedics were worried about his brain.” He said, whispering to try and avoid Grace hearing him, “The doctors here have been radio silent. I don’t even know when they expect him to be out of surgery. Could be in thirty seconds or a day. I just… I don’t know.” 

Jody nodded silently. 

“Well, I’m here if you need anything. And like I said, Sam has been through how much? He’ll get through this too.”

“And if the doctors can’t help him, we will.” Grace said suddenly and Dean looked down, a bit surprised at the interruption and meaning behind her words. She persisted, “Won’t we, papa?” 

Dean swallowed. She was right. If the doctors couldn’t help Sam, hell yes, he would find his own way. But, that kind of pressure and thought process was a lot for an eleven year old girl. So, instead of answering her directly, he deflected a bit.

“I’m sure the doctors will do a great job.” 

Jody squeezed his knee and he breathed out. He closed his eyes momentarily and listened to his own heartbeat pumping away. 

They exchanged bits of small talk for a few hours, and Dean eventually had a crap ton of paperwork to fill out. While he sat and dug through the stack of papers, Jody took Grace for a walk. They returned around four thirty am in the morning. Dean kept telling them to go back to the motel and get some rest, but both refused.

It was just past 6:00am when a doctor came out and called Sam’s name. Grace was passed out with her head in Dean’s lap and Jody was filling up a cup of water for herself. 

But the second that name was called, Jody dropped the cup and walked over. Dean shook Grace a little to wake her up and then all three of them were alert.

Dean stood up once Grace had moved and immediately bombarded the doctor, “Is he okay?”

The doctor -a younger looking African american with a shaved head and thin wire glasses- lowered his gaze a bit and swallowed. It was definitely not a ‘good news’ face. Dean felt his stomach twisting with each passing second.

“I can take two of you to him, now.” He said solemnly, not answering Dean’s original question, “We have maximum occupancy in the ICU.” 

Dean sent a quick glance to Jody and asked, “Watch her?”

Jody nodded and answered, “Of course.” As she placed a hand on Grace’s shoulder. 

“What? I want to come!” Grace complained, tugging at Dean’s sleeve, “He said two people, papa!”

Dean swallowed. She had a valid argument, but all Dean could think was that he had to have a moment alone with Sam. He needed to see him first. Judge whether Grace should even be allowed in the room. He  _ needed _ to be alone with Sam. 

“I know, honey. But I need to do this alone, first. Trust me, okay? Just give me fifteen minutes.” He raised his brows, giving her an expression that left no room for argument. 

She nodded and turned into Jody. Dean felt pride erupt in his chest. 

He leaned down and placed a kiss to Grace’s temple before stepping forward and instructing, “Take me to him.”

The doctor gave a single, firm nod before turning his back and stating, “Right this way.” 

The walk was relatively short, but it felt like forever. Every door that the doctor didn’t stop at earned a glare from Dean. How dare they not lead Dean to Sam. It took a grand total of two minutes to reach the one Sam was in. Two minutes too many, for Dean.

“Now, there is some machinery attached to him. It may look appalling, but I assure you, it’s all there to help.” 

Dean nodded and with that, the doctor opened the door and gestured for Dean to lead the way. 

It took everything in him to not collapse to the floor when he laid eyes on Sammy. He looked  _ awful _ .

“The ventilator is to help take pressure off of his lungs, as he has two fractured ribs. We did a blood transfusion, and stitched several of his larger cuts shut. The nurses bandaged the burns and disinfected areas at risk. There were four broken bones in his left wrist and hand that we set and cast. However, our largest concern was the head trauma. We did a CT scan and it became apparent that Sam experienced both brain hemorrhaging and swelling of the brain tissue. In the emergency room, our neurosurgeon was able to open a window in his skull with the goal of relieving pressure inside the skull and creating more room for swollen tissues. She also removed several hematomas that were putting pressure on the brain and were risking damage to brain tissue. Hematomas are blood clots.” 

Dean blinked a few times. None of it made any sense. All he could see were the bandages covering half of Sam’s face and the screens indicating he was still breathing. 

“So what does that mean?” He asked, somewhat impatiently.

The doctor sighed, “It means that there is a very long road to recovery ahead of him, unfortunately. If Sam wakes up, he will need to undergo extensive rehabilitation to relearn many of his cognitive and motor functions. The human brain isn’t manufactured to undergo trauma like his did.”

“Wait, I’m sorry,” Dean held up a hand and blinked before asking skeptically, “Did you say  _ if  _ he wakes up?” 

The doctor gave him a sympathetic glance.

“Brain injuries are among the most difficult to understand and diagnose. They are incredibly complex and there is still so much we just don’t know, which means that unfortunately, they can be very unpredictable. I have every reason to believe that Sam will wake up, but I cannot be certain. We’ll remove the ventilator tomorrow, and remove the dosages of sedatives. We need him to wake up to evaluate how extensive the damage is, but due to the severity of his head trauma, we cannot be sure whether or not he will wake.” 

Dean leaned forward and closed his fists around the edge of Sam’s bed. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw as he nodded, processing what he was being told. After a moment, he looked up.

“So, what, you’re saying there’s no full recovery?”

The doctor shifted on his feet.

“It’s highly unlikely, I’m afraid.” 

Dean closed his eyes and reached forward, placing his hand on top of Sam’s limp one. 

“Can I get a moment alone with him, please?” His voice cracked on the last word and he sighed, closing his eyes and pinching his lips to quietly collect himself.

The doctor gave a firm nod, “Of course. If you need anything, the call button is just to the left of his hand. A nurse will be in in a few minutes to check on him.” 

Dean breathed out slowly and swallowed before acknowledging, “Thank you.”

And with that, the doctor was leaving the room and closing the door behind him. Dean waited until he couldn’t hear the footsteps anymore before he let out an audible, shaky breath and allowed a tear to fall down his cheek. He reached down for his watch and set an alarm for fifteen minutes.

Dean then took the hand that wasn’t in a thick cast and wrapped his fingers around it, giving it a firm squeeze. For a moment, he just let his eyes run over Sam’s body. 

His brother’s lower half was underneath the sheets, but his collarbones and the top half of his chest were exposed, along with his arms, neck, and face. There were bandages all over his upper body, and Dean hated the ones covering the left side and top right of his face. He wanted to see his husband fully. There was a thick tube down his throat and several wires stuck to his chest that were connected to any and all of the beeping machines surrounding the head of his bed. Dean felt like he shouldn’t be touching him. Like he was all wet paint, and even the faintest wrong move could smudge the whole thing. His hand felt safe, however. There was nothing sticking out of or connected to his hand. It was free. Safe.  _ Familiar _ in a way Dean desperately needed.

He looked at Sam’s closed eyes as he ran his thumb gently over his knuckles, eyes burning with unshed tears. Dean slowly brought his other hand up and placed his index finger to Sam’s cheek, softly brushing down the side of his face and along the bottom of his jaw, “Hey, Sammy.”

His voice was choked and gravelly, every single emotion shining through with full intensity. Tears dangled on his lower lashes, and he bit down on his upper lip to keep from completely collapsing into sobs.

He sighed and took a seat next to the bed, still playing gently with Sam’s hand and eyeing his face.

“I’ve been trying to think of what to say, but…” He shook his head, turning away for a second and tilting his face up to keep at least some of the tears at bay.

He framed Sam’s face carefully with his hand, tears silently seeping down his cheeks as he started, “I know it’s hard right now, and I’m sure it hurts like hell, but Sammy, I… I can’t lose you.”

The silence had an overwhelming presence, physically weighing down his shoulders and pulling him down with ten times the power of gravity.

Thing was… he knew what he wanted to say. It had been bouncing around in his head since the doctor started talking about brain damage. And he knew deep in his bones that it was the right thing to do. 

Sam was going to be different when he woke up (because it was _ when _ ; Dean wasn’t buying into any of this  _ ‘if’ _ crap), and he was going to be hindered in the worst possible way. Sam’s biggest asset was his intelligence. Of course, Dean didn’t love him for that, alone. He would still love Sam more than anything in this world if he didn’t have his intelligence. His brain. His wisdom. But for Sam? Losing all of that… it would be worse than dying. Dean knew his brother well enough to know that. So… he knew what he had to say. He  _ knew _ it. But now that he was about to voice it out loud… he felt sick. 

He breathed deeply and squeezed Sam’s hand to gather strength before starting to say all the things he desperately wished he didn’t have to say. 

“I want you to live. I want you to live more than anything else in this world. I want you to fight like hell to stay with us… me.” He let out with a strangled breath, voice wavering on a level he didn’t think was possible, “But… sacrifice,” he stated with a deep sigh, closing his eyes slowly and fanning his thumb over Sam’s chin, caressing the skin there, “That’s what we do for the people we love.”

He looked longingly into Sam’s closed eyes and shook with cries as his voice cracked, “So I will understand if that’s not what you want.”

“I know that it hasn’t always been easy for you. I know how much pain you’ve had to go through, and I wish with every bone in my body that I could take it all away, but I can’t. It kills me that I can’t. A little piece of my heart rips off and never returns when I see you in pain. And this… your brain, your intelligence, your diligence… it may be too much to lose. And I understand that, Sammy. So, I understand that it may be too hard for you to keep fighting.”

Dean’s never been very reliant on any religious figure or higher authority, but as the next few words came out of his mouth, he sent a silent prayer to whatever God was listening.

“So if you want to go, I want you to know it’s okay.”

His hand shook against Sam’s face simultaneous with the hitches in his voice, “It’s okay. I understand.”

The few seconds between the next two beeps of the heart monitor were the longest seconds of his life. He didn’t want any of it- he wasn’t ok with any of it. But this is what love was, and that’s how much he loves Sam. Dean remembers his mother telling him something many moons ago, when he had his head resting on her knees while she sewed together a sweater for John. Dean had caught a bunny and wanted to keep it as a pet, but his mother told him that it wouldn’t be happy or safe in their home.

When he asked why, she looked him in the eyes and told him with a calm voice, “Dean, when you love something, sometimes that means you have to set it free, even if it hurts. Because that’s what’s best.”

It was like Dean was waiting for the steady beeps echoing throughout the room to bottom out, his heart aching in his chest with the emotional weight of the past few days. He’d given Sam permission to go, and now that’s all that was left.

Maybe it was stupid to think Sam would make that decision immediately. Maybe his brother didn’t hear him at all. But still… as the monitor kept beeping, and the ventilator kept pushing air in and out of his lungs, Dean couldn’t help but feel a sense of hope and pride blossom deep within his body. Sam wasn’t quitting. Not now.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” He smirked with watery eyes, pride lacing every crack in his voice.

He squeezed Sam’s hand tightly, and though the limb was pale and limp, it provided Dean with a tether to his warmth. He ran his fingers softly over his palm, thumb coming up to brush over his knuckles gently, soothingly.

“You’ve never been a quitter, Sam.” He smiled softly at all the memories that flooded through his brain that confirmed that statement, “You’re so strong. So persistent. And you’re capable of anything. You’ll get through this, too. We’ll both get through this. Stronger than ever.”

He looked down at their interlocked hands and suddenly the weight of all that had happened hit him. 

“Ben, huh? What the hell was that?” He laughed a little under his breath and continued, “Never in a million years would I have guessed that one.”

His throat got a bit clogged up when he continued, “I’m so sorry I didn’t get there sooner. Maybe if I had…” 

He had to stop himself from going any further down that particular road. He didn’t know if he’d be able to pull himself back if he went too far. 

So he just breathed out and squeezed Sam’s hand tightly as he whispered, “I love you so much.”

His stomach dropped when his watch lit up beside Sam’s face, the blue screen highlighting the dark black zeroes pulsing in alert that his timer just ran out. He swallowed thickly and looked briefly over his shoulder before letting go of Sam’s hand and bringing his hand to the off button. He snoozed the alarm with a nervous laugh.

“Yeah, they’re gonna have to drag me out of here before I leave.” He whispered to Sam, returning his hand to his brother’s and intertwining their fingers, “And probably not even then.”

He fell into an uneasy silence, Dean’s eyes restlessly switching between Sam’s face, heart monitor, and chest. It was bizarre and devastating to have to look at monitors and medical devices to figure out if his brother was alive or not. He was used to only feeling alive himself when Sam looked at him with that big, dopey grin and those bright multicolored eyes, and now he was sitting here, breathing, and Sam would be dead if it wasn’t for a machine giving him air. It was a sick irony- the only thing he wanted to live for fighting for his life.

He would give anything to see those damn eyes again.


	7. To die or to heal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam wakes up, but not in the way anyone wants nor expects. Dean fights for hope while Sam fights for his life.

Sleep paralysis.

Sam remembered experiencing it a handful of times. Almost all of them occurred during the months following his stay in the cage. He’d wake up mentally but his entire body would be paralyzed to the point where it took a solid effort even just to breathe. Trapped inside his own mind, while his body lay weak and heavy. 

And it was happening again now, but to a much worse degree.

He flicked his eyes open slowly, blinking a few times to clear the blurriness from his vision. He felt a heavy, intense weight on his chest. It was like something was sitting on top of his lungs. His head was throbbing and he was aching all over. But the worst was when he went to move his head to look down at his body and found himself unable to do so. He was physically incapable of moving his head. His heart rate started to rise. Sam next tried to lift an arm, to just flex a single finger… but his body simply would not move. He found that he wasn’t even able to shift his  _ eyes _ . He tried to focus on the clock across the room, but his irises just kept gliding down. Even when he put all of the effort and energy he had into shifting his gaze, he couldn’t get it to budge. 

He was trapped inside his own body.

Sam had to take a moment to himself to figure out what the hell was happening. He remembered Ben. The basement. Grace. The knife to the head that made his world tilt on its axis. 

He worked the problem through. Back to front. 

In psychology, he studied the lobes of the brain. The parts that aligned with which function and the responsibilities each structure held. The parietal lobe processed sensation, the temporal lobe dealt with hearing, the occipital lobe handled vision, and the frontal lobe was responsible for logic and movement.

Movement.

So, he must have fucked with the frontal lobe in some way that crapped out his motor neurons. He could still feel, he just couldn’t  _ move _ . Literally trapped inside his own body. He couldn’t so much as control how and when he blinked. Or even move his tongue. He was well and truly paralyzed.

The fear was electric. 

And it only got worse when he heard the sound of footsteps coming towards him but couldn’t shift his eyes to see where they were coming from or who they belonged to. The click and squeak of the door swinging open would’ve made him jump if he had the physical capacity. But… 

“Oh my God, his eyes are open!” He heard Grace’s sweet voice and he felt his heart clench. He wanted to hold her so fucking bad. He wanted to kiss her cheek, tell her he was okay, hug her close. More words came tumbling out of her mouth, “Papa, look!” 

And  _ fuck _ that did something to Sam. It was a bizarre sensation. To feel such an overwhelming sense of love and desperation without his body physically displaying it. To feel the hurt and desire deep in his heart but not be able to cry, speak, hug, kiss…  _ nothing _ . Because Grace calling for her ‘papa’ meant Dean was there, too, and that knowledge was like a punch to the stomach. He felt grief for Dean. He felt the desperation, and the fear, and the sorrow. The two of them always shared an emotional link when it came to either of them in peril. 

And knowing that Dean was here -seeing him like this- hurt like hell. 

“Holy…” He heard Dean gasp in surprise, “Sammy?!” 

And yeah… that twisted the dagger already embedded in his heart. 

All he wanted to do was scream.

_ I HEAR YOU! I’M RIGHT HERE! I’M OKAY! I LOVE YOU! _

But he  _ couldn’t _ . And that  _ killed _ him.

Trapped in his own body. Imprisoned.

“Sammy, baby, can you hear me?” Dean’s voice was desperate and hopeful at the same time.

_ Yes!  _ Sam screamed internally.

“Why isn’t he reacting? Can he hear?” 

“He’s just waking up, give him a moment. I wouldn’t disregard it as initial disorientation. It could simply be that he needs to take a few minutes to establish bodily functions.” 

That came from a deeper, firmer voice- one that Sam didn’t recognize. It was reassuring, though. Maybe this was temporary. 

“But he can hear us?” Grace asked this time.

_ Yes! _

“There’s no reason to believe he can’t. There was no damage sustained to either of the temporal lobes. Again-”

“It’s all unpredictable, yeah, yeah, yeah.” Dean brushed him off, “You don’t know Sam. If you’re saying there’s even a chance he can hear us, then he can.” 

And if only Sam’s eyes could water… 

The faith that Dean had in him was astounding. It never wavered. Not ever for a second. It’s one of the things he loved so much about his brother. Sam had gone through his fair share of rough patches -some that would warrant Dean never trusting him again- but still he held a belief in Sam that had yet to be matched. It would  _ never _ be matched. So many people had given up on Sam- deemed him impure, unworthy. To most, he was  _ tainted _ . 

But not to Dean. Never to Dean.

“Well, I’ve just got a handful of tests to run, and then I’ll be out of your hair.” 

It was that doctor voice again.

“Sam, If you can hear me…”

_ I can! _

“… I’m just going to shine my penlight here for a moment. Do me a favor and follow the light with your eyes.” 

And Sam could see the light enter his line of vision, but as it started to move, he couldn’t follow it. He tried his damndest, but… nothing. And the disappointment was tangible.

“Why isn’t he doing it?” Grace asked.

“It’s still early. I don’t want to judge anything quite yet. His pupils are responsive to light, which is good, but it seems like voluntary movement is going to be difficult for him.”

“Okay, what does that mean?” Dean asked, now, “Where do we go from here?”

“We’ll just have to wait and see if his state improves within a couple of days.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

Sam felt his heart beating faster as he waited for the answer to his brother’s question. 

“We’ll cross that bridge when and if we get to it. I’ll leave you three alone, now.”

Classic deflection. Sam would’ve sighed if he could. 

“Thank you.” Grace spoke sweetly, letting the doctor know he was appreciated despite Dean’s pushiness.

“You’re very welcome.” The firm voice said, only to be followed by several footsteps and the sound of a door closing with a quiet click.

“Daddy?” Grace’s little voice asked and Sam felt a sudden pressure on the back of his right hand. He knew without having (or being able) to look that she had grabbed his hand and was holding it tight.

With everything in him, he tried to squeeze it back. But Sam never got what he wanted.

“Papa…” She said next, and her voice was laced with fear and worry.

“Hey, come here.” He heard Dean speak to her, “It’s gonna be okay. Just give him some time, yeah?” 

He heard a few sniffles.

“He’s like this because of me.” Grace cried out next, “If I didn’t leave, this wouldn’t have happened.” 

_ No no no no no. You are so, so, so wrong baby girl. Don’t blame yourself. Please.  _

“No no no,” Dean told her and Sam was grateful for his brother being on the same wavelength as him, “None of this is your fault, Grace. Daddy wanted you to go. You did exactly what he wanted. You’re the one that found me. Without you, I wouldn’t have found dad as fast. You’re a hero, baby girl. You  _ saved _ him.”

_ Exactly. Thank you. _

“Do you think he can really hear us?” 

_ Yes. _

Dean sighed, “I sure hope so. I believe so. Last time I bet against dad it didn’t end too well. Actually, betting against dad  _ never _ ends well.”

_ God, Dean, I love you so fucking much. _

“Yeah.” Grace responded, but it was quiet. Not quite sure.

“Why don’t you say something to him, hm?” Dean prompted, and his voice was falsely lighthearted, “If he can hear you, I know it’ll make him feel better. And if he can’t? Well, no harm done.” 

There was a little but of silence that passed.

“How about if I go first?” Dean asked after a second. 

Sam was sure that there was some sort of silent conversation passed between the two that he couldn’t see. 

“Hey, baby.” Dean’s voice was soft and Sam could tell he was holding back tears. There was a soft pressure on his knee all of a sudden and then a firm squeeze, “It’s good to see your eyes, Sammy. I missed them. Grace and I miss you a whole lot right now.”

“And we love you so much.” Grace added before Dean could. 

_ I love you too. So much. I miss you both. _

“That’s right.” Dean agreed with Grace, “But we’ll be patient. We know you’re working hard to get back to us. We’ll work hard for you, too.” 

_ I wish I could cry. I would be in sobs right now. _

“Also, even with all the bandages you’re still smoking, don’t worry.” Dean said in a mock whisper.

_ Dean! Right in front of our eleven year old?! _

“Ew, papa!” Grace complained and Sam laughed internally, “Gross!”

Dean’s laugh was the most beautiful sound in the world.

“What, would you rather your parents hate each other?” Dean asked, voice dripping in ‘ _ I told you so _ ’.

Grace laughed a little before the humor died out and she asked quietly, “Daddy, can you squeeze my hand?” 

Sam felt his heart break. And he heard a drawn out sigh from Dean that meant his was broken too. 

And he tried. Dammit, he tried. But he just… he just  _ couldn’t _ . 

“Honey, it’s gonna be a little while until he can do that.” Dean said quietly, but there was a sorrow in his voice that wasn’t there before, “It’s okay. He needs to heal.” 

“I just want to talk to him.” Grace whispered.

_ I want to talk to you, too, jellybean. _

“I know.” Dean answered, voice thick with emotion, “Me too.”

The room filled with silence after that. 

For an hour or so, Dean and Grace made small talk around him. But it was clear that Sam wasn’t going to change anytime soon.

So they left when the night nurse came in.

They bid farewell and Sam closed his eyes -just hoping for a better tomorrow.

——————

“Where he is now, what his body is showing us… it qualifies as a vegetative state.”

Three days and Sam’s diagnosis hadn’t changed. He was still immobile entirely and trapped in his mind. 

The doctor spoke solemnly, the sympathy patent in his tone, “I’m very sorry.” 

Sam’s heart was racing. They couldn’t be giving up. They couldn’t be  _ quitting _ .

“Are you trying to tell me that my brother is beyond saving?” Dean asked, voice stretched and just  _ daring _ the doctor to agree. 

The doctor looked down at the ground for a long moment before returning his gaze to Dean and admitting, “I’m afraid there’s nothing more we can do. I am truly sorry.”

_ No no no no,  _ Sam thought,  _ we know other ways. We can figure this out. It is  _ _ not _ _ over _ .

“No, no, no, no…” Dean wagged a finger in the air and sent a death glare at the doctor before yelling, “We are  _ not _ giving up on him!” 

The doctor’s voice remained flat and unphased as he responded, “It’s not giving up, Mr.Winchester. It’s peace of mind.”

_ What?  _

“For all we know, Sam is locked inside of his own body now. Unable to speak, eat, move… it’s torture. That is no life to live. And there is nothing suggesting that any improvement will be made.” 

_ No. No. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to abandon Dean. Grace. No…  _

“I am suggesting we allow him to pass peacefully.”

Dean’s voice was torn up and filled with tears, “No. No. You can’t do this!” 

“Sir…” The doctor started, but Dean cut him off.

“I need a moment alone with him.”

“Mr.Winches-”

“Now!” Dean yelled, and his voice cracked on that one word, but he was far too angry to argue with. 

The doctor left the room. As soon as the door swung closed, Sam could feel a pressure on the back of his hand.

“Come on, Sam!” Dean shouted through watery eyes and shaky breaths.

“You have to do something, man!” He begged again, and Sam could feel a wet tear pand on his forearm, “Please! Please, baby. They are going to pull the plug, unless you do something!” 

_ I’m trying!  _ Sam thought,  _ I don’t want to go either! _

“I cannot lose you, do you understand me?!” Dean shouted, squeezing Sam’s hand, “But you have to do this for me! You have to  _ move _ !”

Sam wanted to cry so bad he felt his throat choking up.

“I believe in you. I know that you can hear me. I  _ know _ that you’re in there,” Dean continued pleading, “But they need proof. Real, naked-eye proof. You have to give them it, Sammy. You have to.” 

_ I’m so sorry I’m making you feel like this. I’m so, so, so sorry. I love you. I’m trying my hardest. _

“Please, Sam.” Dean’s voice was quiet now, broken and pleading, “Please. I need you.” 

Oh God, Sam’s heart was shattering. Figuring it was futile, he tried to squeeze Dean’s hand back. 

Still nothing. 

The despair was all encompassing, and with one last ditch effort, he sent out a prayer.

_ Castiel! I’m dying. Dean needs me. Please come! Please! _

The minutes passed by and there was nothing but Dean’s unintelligible whimpers and sobs. Sam felt himself giving up. Maybe the doctor was right and this was no way to live. Maybe he should just throw in the towel. Maybe he should ju-

“Cas?!” Dean’s voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts and Sam felt a new hope fester deep in his chest.

“Dean.”

Sam felt like he could breathe again when he heard Castiel’s voice.

“What are you doing here? I thought you couldn’t hear me.” Dean asked, dumbfounded but grateful.

“Sam prayed for me. I never heard a call from you, Dean, I’m sorry.” Cas answered, “What happened?”

“Sam prayed for you?” Dean asked, and there was something akin to pure  _ awe _ in his voice.

“He did.” Cas confirmed.

“Wow.” Dean let out a breath that was all teary and wonderfilled, “That’s… fuck.” 

The emotions were too strong for Dean to comprehend or articulate. Same understood. Two minutes ago, he was doubting whether or not Sam was even present psychologically, and now… now he knew for sure that he was. 

“I love you, Sam.” He said in a thick voice as he squeezed his brother’s hand, unable to resist now that he knew Sam could hear. 

_ I love you more. _

There was a pause and then Dean was speaking again, “Can you fix him?” 

“I can certainly try.” Cas told him and Sam heard the ruffling of fabric that told him the angel was rolling up his sleeves. He continued to explain, “There is a lot of damage, here. I don’t think I can heal all of it, but I should be able to mend the nerve damage. That’s the most prominent.” 

“Just do everything you can.” Dean instructed in a firm voice.

_ Please.  _

“Of course.” Cas agreed. 

Sam held his breath nervously as he felt two hands land on either one of his shoulders. There was a warm, sort of buzzing feeling flooding his body that lasted for several minutes. It faded with a stinging sensation and then Sam was gasping for air. 

“Sammy?!” Dean yelled, reaching forward to grab his brother's shoulders, “Hey! Hey, you with me?!”

Sam drew in a few shaking breaths as he blinked. He tried to move his eyes around and for the first time in days… he  _ could _ . He gasped and went to move his fingers, just testing it out. And they did in fact twitch. He could cry.

He slid his eyes over to Dean and saw the tears flowing down his brother’s face. He felt his heart stutter.

Sam tried to speak, to say “I’m with you”, but his throat failed him and it sounded more like squeaks. He winced and went for the nod instead.

Dean’s entire face fell. His eyes filled with tears and a whimper escaped his lips. He jutted his head forward and crashed his lips into Sam’s, way too overwhelmed to stop himself. Sam gasped in surprise at first but then relaxed into it. He didn’t put much effort into it, rather just let himself be kissed. Let Dean take care of him. He was too tired. He did bring his good hand up to rest on Dean’s back though. 

“Oh God, I was so scared I lost you.” Dean cried as he pulled away, resting his forehead against Sam’s to keep the intimate proximity.

Sam still had most of the exterior wounds. He still had cuts and burns all over his torso and face. He still had a broken hand and wrist. It still hurt to breathe because of the cracked rib. 

But he was here. He was present. He was alive. 

That’s what mattered.

Cuts and burns and broken bones would heal.

“Thank you, Cas.” Dean retained eye contact with Sam, even as he spoke to the angel. His voice was full of relief, hope, and awe.

“I’m just glad you’re both okay.” The angel said sincerely, eyes filling with adoration as he watched the brothers hold each other close, “I do suggest getting out of here before the doctors come back. Sam’s spontaneous recovery will prompt quite a few questions. I can take you to the bunker, if you’d like.” 

Dean nodded, “That’d be great, Cas.”

And then the angel was snapping his fingers and Sam was laying down on Dean’s bed with his brother hovering over him and Cas looking at them from a few feet away. 

“I’ll leave you two be.” He announced once they were settled.

“Cas, wait.” Dean interrupted, looking up at the angel, who tilted his head as a cue for Dean to continue. 

“Grace is still with Jody. Can you…” He trailed off, knowing his friend would understand.

“I’ll retrieve her and fill Jody in. Of course.” He nodded and then there was a faint fluttering noise and Cas was gone.

Dean nodded and then immediately turned back to look at Sam. When they made eye contact again, a tear fell from Dean’s chin and landed right on Sam’s lips. He smiled just the tiniest bit as he stared up his brother.

“I’m okay.” Sam whispered, wincing back when the words ripped at his throat and came out sounding raspy and strained. He darted his tongue out and licked the tear off of his dry lips.

“Sh, sh.” Dean hushed him gently, bringing a hand up to cradle Sam’s cheek, “Don’t try to speak. I’ve got you.”

Sam nodded as he looked into Dean’s eyes. He saw so many conflicted emotions in those deep greens. Relief and love were the two more prominent.

Sam gently started stroking his thumb in circles on Dean’s back, reassuring him.

“Lay with me.” Sam croaked next, despite Dean telling him that speaking was unnecessary. He needed this.  _ They _ needed this.

Dean nodded immediately and fell off to the side of Sam’s body. He gently and incredibly carefully pulled Sam onto him so that they were cuddled up together. 

Sam buried his face into the crook of Dean’s neck and his brother tilted his head to kiss the crown of Sam’s head gently. He ran fingers gingerly through Sam’s hair and whispered sweet little nothings into his scalp.

And Sam knew as he curled into his brother’s side that no matter what happened, no matter what this world threw at them… they would get through it. 

Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~C’est fini~
> 
> So many hugs and kisses your way if you finished this story <3 <3 <3
> 
> Thank you!


End file.
